Fly Away
by TheInkSlingerHD
Summary: O, how I long to manifest to what I was made for. Much like the songbird in the cage, I crave the freedom that was so harshly robbed from me. To take flight and spread my cheerful songs over the fields of death. [Mentor/Tribute] [Gloss/OC] [69th Hunger Games] [Slightly AU]
1. Chapter 1

**Hello all! I am back! To celebrate, I've decided to start clean and make a new story (big surprise). All of the other stories I currently have not completed will eventually get finished/revamped/edited, mainly because I have a very hard time reading them without cringing. I hope that a year off honing in on my writing skills will help (I probably still suck). Without further ado, enjoy this ridiculously long first chapter. I'm not sure if I'll be able to make all of the chapters this long, but I'll try my hardest.**

**Note: This is the 70th Hunger Games.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that are not mine.**

* * *

><p><em>O, how I long to manifest to what I was made for. Much like the songbird in the cage, I crave the freedom that was so harshly robbed from me. To take flight and spread my cheerful songs over the fields of death.<em>

I wrote the entry into my private journal, leaning back in my chair as a satisfied sigh escapes my lips. With an idle hand, I splay my fingers on the pale ivory skin of my neck, looking out at the window of my bedroom to the place I called home; District 1.

Today was a day everyone in the 12 districts of Panem knew well; it was Reaping Day. A heavy cloak of darkness seemed to hang over everyone's heads today, as it does every year. I take a deep breath, trying not to let the panic that had built up in my chest blossom anymore. Panic and anxiety attacks were a regular occurrence for me, and the best thing I had learned to do was to just ride them out. I close my eyes for a moment, allowing nothing but darkness and silence to encompass me as I try my best to think optimistically.

This year marked the fifth year that I was forced to enter the Hunger Games. My odds weren't terrible, as I hadn't taken tesserae. My family didn't really need the extra help, I was the only child, and my father was the mayor, so money wasn't too tight in my household. We still struggled, but not like some of the other families.

Suddenly, the metallic tones of bells rang across the district. It was signaling the arrival of the Capitol entourage. I open my eyes and stand from my beloved wooden chair, pushing it to where it belongs under my desk. I hurriedly close my journal, storing it in one of the drawers of the desk.

I was already dressed, as being ready and being on time was something I obsessed over. I look in the full length mirror I had in my room, raking my fingers through the long black tresses of my hair. I inspect my appearance carefully before nodding at myself in the mirror, accepting it. I slide on my shoes then head downstairs, to where my parents are.

It was tradition that my mother put on the pearl necklace that was passed on throughout the generations as my father would tell me something to keep me calm. His wizened eyes twinkled as he smiled at me. "It'll just be like every other year, Jet. Your name won't be called and you'll come right back here. We'll have dinner ready and we can pray for the families who are chosen, but it won't be us," he said evenly, placing his hand on my shoulder as he nods, affirming his words.

I nod in response, taking more deep breaths. My father always seemed to calm me down, with his charisma and diplomatic skills. After my mother had clasped the necklace, she walked in front of me, standing next to my father as she smiles, one full of love and compassion. "It'll be alright," she says quietly, more to herself than anyone, really. My mother always takes Reaping Day very hard. She detests the Hunger Games and the brutal slaughter of children that it promotes.

As a family, we leave the house, my father striding slightly in front of my mother and me. I inherited a lot of my looks from him. We were both of tall, slender build with thick, dark hair, while my mother was shorter with sandy hair. The only thing we differed on was taste in food and our eye color, really. I obtained my light blue orbs from my mother and the taste in food from my maternal grandmother, apparently, but what can I say? I love comfort food.

I break off from my parents as I go over to the station for 16-year-old-girls. They pluck my finger and harvest the blood from the wound, then whisk me away. I stand with the other girls, quietly, as per usual. Most people would step on me if I wasn't so tall, because my presence was easily ignored. Even though I was the mayor's daughter, not many paid attention to me, and if they did, they would probably be hostile with assumed jealously that my family and I were treated like citizens of the Capitol. That was far from the truth, of course. I was content with that, though. I would be quiet and no one would notice me. That was how I played my life.

As the ceremony began my father walked up to the microphone, his presence immediately demanding everyone's attention. All chatter ceased as he made the speech he'd been reciting at the dinner table for weeks now. I zoned out, looking at everyone else around me. I was a very observant person, noting that everyone dressed in either purple or pink this year, seemingly. Interesting.

My father finished his speech, retreating to his seat at the back of the stage. From there, the District 1 escort, Teris Wellshell made his way to the microphone, looking like a stick of blue cotton candy this year, with voluminous light blue hair and clothes, lips, and eyes to match. He delivered the same speech I had heard for the majority of my life. His words made goose bumps appear on my skin as I started to get anxious. What if I was picked this year? The thought ran rampant through my skull as my breathing started to increase and my heart rate revved up. Oh, great.

After the speech, Teris cleared his throat dramatically as he made his way over to the giant fishbowl that held my name. Not that many times, but enough that there would always be a chance. Hell, this was the Hunger Games. The odds were never in our favor.

"Ladies first," he announced pretentiously as he descended his hand into the bowl, fishing over slips of paper until he settled on one. He neatly plucked it from the mass of paper as he walked back over to the microphone, pausing as he let the audience build up even more anxiety. _Could you just get on with it, please? _I thought bitterly as I self-consciously tapped my foot.

With one more clearing of the throat, he projected the name displayed on the piece of paper. "Jet Maisivitch!" The crowd was dead silent. I couldn't believe I had just heard _my _name. I shook my head, looking around at the people who were also looking around for this "Jet Maisivitch". I was desperately hoping that it was just my hysteria that had tricked me into believing he'd said my name, but as I watched two peace keepers making their ways over to me, I knew that it was indeed my name that he had said on that damnable piece of paper, so small and insignificant, yet it could ruin a family's life.

Pulling off the most composure I can muster, I allow the peace keepers to escort me to the stage. My legs are wobbling as I make my way up the stairs to the stage. I desperately hope I'm not shaking as bad as it feels as I uneasily make my way over to Teris. With a fake smile plastered to his face, he welcomes me to stand next to him. I comply and stand stoic, looking out at the crowd. No one volunteers for me, of course. Why would they? I'm the quiet girl who barely even knows her own name.

I'm going to die.

Teris makes his way over to the other fishbowl, housing the names of the males aged 12 through 18 in District 1. He performs the same methodical rituals taken when he announced the female tribute. Making his way back to the microphone, he wastes no dramatics as he taps the microphone with a finger, gathering the already quiet crowd to pay even more attention. This man certainly had a flare for the performing arts.

As clearly he could make it, he announced the male tribute. "Sheen Comman!" The crowd is silent once again as they wait for Sheen to make his appearance. I hazily recognize him as he emerges from the crowd. I believe I've seen him at school before, or perhaps from training. He was a year older than me, I think. He was a little on the short side with earthy brown hair styled similar to a pompadour. He looked confident and calm, at least calmer than I looked, I reckon.

As he ascended the stairs, Teris greeted him with the same fake politeness he had greeted me with, then stepped aside so Sheen and I could shake hands, something all of the tributes were supposed to do in every district. My icy eyes met his hazel ones as we shook hands. He arched a dark brow, challenging me. I took a deep breath, not reacting as Teris bid the audience farewell, ushering my district partner and me inside the Justice Building to say our final goodbyes to our families.

It had all been so surreal that I had been chosen that I really didn't even notice my parents. Apparently, my mother had let out a wail when my name had been called, but I was so intent that I didn't even notice. My father had sat in solemn silence, not meeting anyone's gaze for the rest of the ceremony.

As I entered the room designated for my family, I was immediately enveloped in a hug from my mother. She was still crying hysterically, violent sobs racking her body as she burrowed her face in my neck, brushing my hair away. I awkwardly wrapped my arms around her, doing my best to comfort her, but it was difficult for me to do any comforting to anyone, even family. Being socially awkward can be a major handicap sometimes.

Finally, my mother pulled away, eyes puffy and red. She stepped to the side, allowing my father to get his turn with me. He was hesitant a moment before he suddenly flew his arms around my thin frame. I almost stumbled backwards as his weight crashed against me. Strange sounds came from him that I eventually recognized to hear upset sobs and cries. I've never heard my father cry. We were also similar in that regard, being able to hold in emotions for a long time. He was always the family's rock that provided stability, even during the worst times, but this surpassed the worst of times, for sure.

It didn't seem like enough time before peace keepers were already ushering my parents away. It took a lot of willpower to rip myself away from them. I bit my bottom lip to keep it from wobbling. I couldn't be seen as weak now, not now, not ever. I had to be strong for my parents, even though I know my eminent death is looming over my head like a dark cloud.

From the Justice Building, we were escorted to the train that would carry us into the Capitol. The train was ostentatious in its decorations and design. _All of the things on this train are from District 1_, I thought bitterly as I walked through the main cabin before being sat down at a table. Two chairs were on either side of the table, and Sheen and I sat next to each other as we were told to wait for our mentors. Teris sat at the head of the table, where a lone chair was set up that I hadn't noticed before.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sheen speaks up. "So, you're Jet?"

I clear my throat awkwardly, speaking for the first time that day. "Yep," was all I had to contribute to the conversation. I avoided looking at him even though I could feel his eyes staring at the side of my face.

That was the last thing said until a glass door _whooshed _open, two very attractive people walking in, who I immediately recognized to be Gloss and Cashmere, the infamous brother and sister duo. Gloss took his seat opposite of me and I felt myself flush a little as he shot me a pristine, charming smile. He was even more beautiful up close, I realized, than when I had seen him helping some of the older kids during training. Cashmere took her seat next to him, opposite Sheen.

It was Teris who spoke this time. "Cashmere and Gloss, this is Jet and Sheen."

They simply gave us smiles and inclined their heads. Then, Cashmere spoke. "Well, Jet and Sheen, it's very nice to meet you both. My brother and I have decided that I will be helping Sheen and he will be helping you, Jet," she said, smile adorning her lips. I couldn't decide if it was fake or not.

I was surprised that they had already chosen their assignments. They'd just learned our names and hadn't even seen us in person until just now. Sheen voiced the same opinion. "You guys already sorted through us?"

Gloss gave a small laugh, shaking his head. "Cash and I have been alternating each year. I get the girl this year, and she gets the male."

Sheen nodded in understanding, a small blush creeping on his cheeks from the embarrassment of Gloss correcting him. In that moment, I decided that Sheen had issues with pride. Who knows, maybe this information could help me win the Games.

I stopped dead in my thought process as I realized just what I had been thinking. I wasn't going to win the Games, and I definitely wasn't going to kill other children for glory or fame. I thought the Games were deplorable, even though I'd had training for all my life. I just didn't see the good in it at all. Sure, you may win the Hunger Games, but you lose yourself in the process. I'd seen it happen to a lot of people. It's better to die with compassion and honor still intact rather than win a monster.

I was shaken out of my thoughts as I noticed Gloss was looking at me expectantly, as was everyone else at the table. My ears and face turned hot as I realized that I hadn't been paying attention, and he'd probably asked me a question and I'd totally zoned out.

Timidly and sheepishly, I ask, "Sorry, what?"

Gloss shakes his head good naturedly, but I'm sure it was just an act. I'm annoying and he knows it already. He's probably regretting his decision in picking to mentor the female tribute this year. "I asked if you were fine with arrangement," he said politely, but I just had this tingle on my spine knowing that it was fake. It had to be fake. God, I was cynical. And why was he so damned attractive and giving me a look? _No, he's just looking at you, which is the polite thing to do when you talk to someone_, I chide myself internally.

I nod perhaps a little too enthusiastically, trying to compensate for my ignorance. "Oh, yeah, that's fine."

"Great. Then it's decided. Now, we just wait for the Capitol," Cashmere announced, clapping her hands as if she was affirming her own words. I bob my head as I cross my arms, sinking a little in my chair. I wanted nothing more than to hide right now. I hated social situations, and it really didn't help that the most attractive man I had ever seen was now staring at me. I could feel his eyes roving over every facet of me, but it wasn't in a perverted way. He was simply studying me. I wasn't used to attention from anyone, especially not someone like him. I was me, and he was him. We may be from the same district, but there's a huge difference; he's a winner, and I'm destined to be a loser.

My heartbeat quickened as I noticed he was still staring at me.I was trapped between catching Gloss staring at me, the threat of Cashmere, Sheen, and Teris trying to include me in whatever they were talking about, and staring at the floor like an idiot. So, naturally, I stare at the floor.

After some time, a plate magically appears in front of me. I blink a few times as I sit up straight, Avoxes coming into the room. Avoxes were servants of the Capitol that had their tongues cut off for some form of violation of the law. They neatly served us dinner, then retreated to a corner.

I timidly picked up my fork as Sheen started digging into his food like a dog. I shoot him a look and he smiles sheepishly. "I haven't eaten in a day," he says, then continues to shovel food in his mouth. A pang of guilt shoots through me as I can't help but feel sympathy for my district partner. I didn't know it was _that _bad back home. We were technically the best off district. It comes as a shock that people are actually starving in my own district. The realization prickles the hair on the back of my neck as I start to eat the meal.

There was goose meat that had been marinated with cranberry sauce, meticulously cut slices from an apple, steamed broccoli with some strange type of seasoning, and a glass of water to accompany the whole meal. Well, for Sheen and me, anyways. Gloss and Cashmere had red wine in their glasses, and Teris had something bubbly in his, so I assumed it was either something carbonated or alcoholic.

After dinner, Gloss and Cashmere stood, beckoning us over as we went into another cabin. A couch sat opposite a television as everyone piled onto the large sofa. Of course, because the fates seem to be laughing at me today, I was awkwardly sandwiched between the tall and muscular (and ridiculously) attractive Gloss and the bulky, short Sheen. Cashmere sat on Gloss's left, by herself. I was very jealous of her.

As if the situation couldn't get any more awkward and uncomfortable, Teris then decides to sit next to Sheen, who, in turns, pushes me closer to Gloss. I feel a blush threaten to make a reappearance as I sit entirely too close to the older male, his warmth radiating off of him as the television turns on, the National Anthem sounding as Caesar Flickerman comes into view. A lime green wig sits atop his head, his eyebrows dyed to match, as well as his lips. He smiles to the camera and continues to announce the events of the day.

Suddenly, there's the footage of my name being called, and a close up of my face. I internally cringe at the stupidity displayed on my face, looking around like an idiot. My cheeks burn with shame, as I know that everyone in Panem is watching me make an idiot of myself. I didn't even know my own name, for God's sake.

Then I hear the pained scream coming from my mother. The hairs on my body stand on end as I hear it. It can easily be compared to nails on a chalkboard. I swallow the dry lump in my throat as I watch myselfwalk to the stage. Thankfully, I don't look stupid anymore, just a little unsure, but not stupid. Then, thankfully, the camera is taken off of me as it searches out for Sheen, making his presence known as he swaggers up to the stage. I inwardly roll me eyes.

As the program continues to run, there are three people who stand out to me; the huge, monster of a boy that volunteered in District 2, the sly, clever looking girl from District 3, and, strangely, a brave volunteer from District 11; an average looking boy, but with eyes that gleam dangerously. They all looked more than capable of killing someone. I think back to how I looked, and sigh softly. There's no way I can do this.

I'm going to die.

I'm never going to see my family again.

I'm going to bring shame to my district and I'm going to embarrass myself.

The National Anthem plays once more, then the television goes dark. Gloss clears his throat as he stands up from the couch. "Alright, kids. Bedtime. Big day tomorrow," he says, then walks out of the room, heading to, I assume, his quarters. An Avox leads me to my own quarters. I thank them, although I'm not sure if you're supposed to, then make sure the glass door _whooshes_ shut before I strip down, padding over to the bathroom.

I stand in amazement at the shower. It had all sorts of options on it. I don't even know where to start. To test it, I try a regular shampoo, then start trying out all kinds of scents and types. I probably played with the shower for about 20 minutes before finally being done, stepping out on the mat. Suddenly, a gust of air blows and I almost die from being startled, then I realize it's just the dryer. In 20 seconds flat, I am completely dried, head to toe.

On the counter, there is a pair of simple night clothes; soft, white silk pants and a tank top. I pull the material over my skin, looking in the mirror and noticing that my hair had also been brushed from the drying device. I run a hand through a few strands, happy with the way it lays and how it feels. With a deep breath, I turn off the light in the bathroom, walking back into my sleeping quarters. I pull back the blanket, tucking myself in as I close my eyes.

What have I gotten into?

* * *

><p><strong>Yay first chapter funsies! And yes, if you haven't pieced it together, this will be a GlossOC fic, but as of right now, it's just a cute little innocent crush on Jet's part. Also, I'm basing Jet's appearance off of Lauren Jauregui, for the most part. As always, reviews, follows, and favorites are much appreciated and help motivate my lazy butt.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, hello, welcome to Chapter 2! I greatly appreciate the follows and views, so keep it up!**

**This chapter features some Jet and Gloss bonding time (I think I would like their ship name to be Jess, just sayin', guys), tension between our beloved pain in the neck Sheen and Cashmere, and the Tribute Parade.**

**Also, I'm planning on spacing things out differently than usual, so the timeline will also be a little different. I plan on having more days of training, so Gloss and Jet can form a stronger relationship before Jet is just thrown into the arena without him. **

**I'm also planning on making this a longer series, so this story will not be the only one, because there won't be a whole much of Jess in this, as they'll be away from each other for a long time, and let's face it, y'all love my OC already so much hahahahah *gets stoned to death by the angry mobs*.**

**Anyways, I'll stop rambling now and let you guys read.**

* * *

><p>I wake the next morning to the sound of my alarm. I sit up in my bed, the blankets pooling around my waist as I turn the electronic device off. I'm in my bedroom, I realize. Yesterday must have just been a terrible nightmare. With a small smile adorning my lips, I leave my comfortable, familiar bed, walking downstairs to see my parents.<p>

However, things aren't right. I know this right away, as there isn't the smell of breakfast getting started, or the sound of my parents having quiet, inane chatter as they get ready for the day. Once I reach the bottom of the stairs, my stomach drops to my feet and I fight the urge to retch as my eyes prickle with tears.

I cover my mouth with my hand as I make a strangled yelp at the scene in front of me; my parents with blood painting their bodies, their limbs twisted at grotesque angles. Bullet wounds dot their bodies like the stars in the nighttime sky- brutally murdered, both of them, the only two people that I've built a relationship with in my entire life. The people that wiped my tears when cried, the people that would soothe me when I had one of my fits, the people that cared and loved for me from the beginning.

Gone.

I crumple to the floor, unable to bear the loss when I hear a familiar voice boom, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Suddenly, I hear an alarm go off. It rings louder and louder, until I open my eyes. I lurch forward in the overly luxurious bed, the silk blankets that cover me falling down. My breathing comes out in sharp gasps as I run a hand through my hair, covering my face as I attempt to calm myself down.

I reach over with my free hand, turning off the alarm. I don't remember setting an alarm, so I figure it was just automatically set that way for all of the tributes. I rise from the bed, sliding out of the bed that had been so comfortable last night, but disgusts me this morning. I pad over to the bathroom, the door sliding open before me.

I face the mirror, inspecting my appearance. I look like I got hit by a truck, to say in the least. The nightmare I'd just had didn't do me any good, that was for sure, but I was also relieved that it _was_ just a dream. Bags hang under my light eyes and a sallow complexion seems to have taken over my usual snow white pallor. I glance over on the counter, noticing that another set of clothing had been laid out for me.

_They must be really sneaky here_, I muse, rolling my eyes a little as I get dressed in the outfit laid out for me, a white dress that contours to my body. I was a little shy looking at myself in the mirror at the form fitting dress, but eventually decide that I like it. I push a button on the control panel, watching in the mirror as a current of air flew down from above me, smoothing my hair out in a dark wave that tumbled down past my shoulders, resting at the small of my back in a neat, brushed sea.

Even though my face looks like an absolute wreck, I shrug as I make my way back out of the bathroom, then out of my bedroom. I am met with the intoxicating smell of eggs, bacon, fruits, and some other meat I couldn't put my finger on. The scents twist my stomach, out of nerves and out of the fact that this was the first morning in all of my life that I wasn't going to be eating my mother's breakfast.

As I enter the kitchen, I am a little surprised to see just Gloss sitting there, quietly eating breakfast as his eyes are focused at a rather interesting spot on the wall, apparently. I awkwardly clear my throat, making my appearance known as I advance closer to the table that had two chairs present, one of which occupied Gloss.

My dress suddenly feels too tight as his eyes flicker over to me, and I notice then how beautiful they are. They're not quite green, but not quite blue, either. They're an infusion of both, I conclude. My eyes meet his intense gaze and I mentally will myself to not blush. Gosh, I was such a teenage girl. All of those years of alienating myself from everyone certainly didn't prepare me for developing my first crush, especially when he was practically a celebrity and way out of my league.

A smile makes itself known on his handsome face as Gloss gestures to the chair sitting across from him. "Take a seat. I was getting worried I would have to come wake you up. Your breakfast is getting cold," he says, voice dripping with charm.

Oh, God.

I stand there for a good second awkwardly before taking his offer, pulling out the chair and seating myself. I look at the food sitting on the plate before me, the urge to throw up steadily building in my throat as my throat starts to get tight, constricting in uncomfortable ways as my mouth starts to water. I firmly grasp the fork, stabbing a piece of scrambled egg, carefully opening my mouth and depositing the food on my tongue. It was good, I'll give the Capitol cooks that much, but nothing could beat my mother's, that was for sure.

"Bad night's sleep?" I hear Gloss ask, perking my head up to look at him.

I nod, speaking quietly. "You could say that."

He nods understandingly. "I get them, too," he then adds, "the nightmares."

A span of silence spreads between us before I speak again, "So where are the others?"

"Cashmere is helping your district partner somewhere else. We're firm believers that everyone in that arena is your enemy, and the last thing you want is for someone else to hear your plans, even if they're your district partner," he spoke. Something told me that he had personal experience with this.

He then continues, "So, now that you're awake and eating, we can discuss some things."

I immediately tense up. "Like what?"

He picks up on my anxiety, speaking lowly and calmly. "Nothing that big of a deal. Just tell me what you were good at during training back home."

I clear my throat, nodding. I was always exceptionally good at long-distance weapons, like throwing knives, the bow and arrow, and a spear. "I like long-range things. I'm not much of an up close and personal kind of person," I tell him. Even though I didn't really plan on using a weapon at all in my life to harm someone else, now I know that that really wouldn't be an option if I ever wanted to come back home to my family.

He nods, listening to me intently, then replying, "That's good, you know your strengths and weaknesses, and judging from your body type, it's good you don't think you're brute, because you definitely don't look like one. It's one of the biggest mistakes tributes can make; overestimating or underestimating themselves and their opponents."

I chuckle softly, nodding, then flush a little. So I wasn't wrong in assuming he was looking at me yesterday, I conclude. "But if it's really up to me, I wouldn't fight at all."

He bites his lip at that, staying quiet a moment before speaking again. "I understand that, but you are expected to be in the Careers. They'll want you to do some things you won't want to do." Realizing how harsh that sounded, he then adds with a small smirk, "You'll just surprise them all when you come out of that arena a winner without spilling a drop of blood."

His words shock me, but not in a bad way. More of in a way that makes you feel all warm and happy and proud, like when someone gives you a compliment. Was he complimenting me? Maybe not, but one thing was sure; he believed in me. I wasn't sure if I could take that to heart, as I hadn't completed any form of training, done my interview, or the evaluation, but it definitely lifted my spirits.

We finish breakfast in a comfortable silence for the rest of the morning, then, Gloss's watch sounds off. He stands up, pushing in the chair. "It's time to get you prepped," he says, offering his hand to me.

A little surprised, I take his hand, standing up as he pushes my chair in for me, then leads me to the door of the train car. Because District 1 is relatively close to the Capitol, the train ride is never that long for the tributes and their mentors, so we usually get some more time to get ready and prepped than the other districts. I peer outside, seeing the people of the Capitol, enthusiastic screams as they pine in anticipation to see the District 1 tributes for the 70th Hunger Games.

Sheen and Cashmere are suddenly standing next to Gloss and me. Sheen looks fidgety and nervous, while Cashmere looks exhausted and miserable. Gloss departs from my side, my fingers slipping away from his as he joins Cashmere, asking her something I can't hear. Cashmere lets out a rough bark of a laugh, shaking her head as she crosses her arms. Sheen winces, moving a little closer to me. I hide my smirk as I turn my face back to the crowd. The doors slide open, and then we're outside in the Capitol.

The crowd roars like a wild animal, and it takes me a moment to realize that they're saying our names. Goosebumps appear on my skin as I smile graciously, flashing it to the crowd. They nearly feint, screaming my name even more. They clap like crazy, throwing roses onto the way that we're walking.

I look around me at the excellent architecture surrounding us. There's amazing, grand buildings everywhere around us. Tall, masterfully made skyscrapers reach into the sky, clouds circling around their tallest floors. All of the buildings' surfaces reflect the sun, an almost ethereal light covering those in the paths of its lights.

We are escorted until we are brought to a Capitol car. We slide in the modern vehicle and the engine purrs softly as it takes off towards the Tribute Center. The ride is relatively short, and no one says much. The tension between Cashmere and Sheen was thick, and I knew that someone was getting ready to snap. I was internally grateful that I wasn't in that situation with my mentor. Well, at least, not yet. Hopefully, not ever.

Once we reach the destination, the doors open, and we practically spill out of the car. Cashmere roughly grabs ahold of Sheen's arm, leading him to where his prep team was. Gloss and I make our ways to where I'm required to be, following the pair in front of us as they enter the magnificent building that looms before us, its majesty topping even some of the buildings that I had first seen when I came out of the train car moments ago.

As we walk, Gloss lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "It would appear your district partner is pushing some buttons on my dear sister."

I chuckle softly, nodding. "Yeah, I think he had a habit of doing that to teachers back home, too."

The rest of the walk is quiet until I am brought to a small, white, sterile room. Gloss bids me farewell and closes the door behind him. Without his presence, I realize how nervous I am again. I can't forget that I'm in the Hunger Games.

I stand there for a few moments before a trio of Capitol people come in. The first is literally painted in lime green, the paint covering the entirety of her skin, even seeming to seep into the wig that stood a mile above her head, her swampy green eyes, and equally green lips. She is plump and short, with kind eyes and a tender smile. She rushes towards me, enveloping me in an uncomfortable hug, her strange designer clothes digging into my skin.

Once she has had enough affection, she releases me, but not totally, her hands coming up to roughly grasp my shoulders. "Ah, what a beautiful one they sent us this year! Natural beauty is always important. It makes our work much easier, right, Wamilda?"

Wamilda, I'm assuming, turns her head, nodding slowly. "Yes, certainly," she replies in a slow, almost condescending tone. She is basically the polar opposite to the woman who stands before me now. She is tall and skinny, with her cheek bones almost threatening to break through the wrinkled skin of her cheeks. I assume she's an older lady, but I'm not sure. Who knows, maybe wrinkles are a current fashion statement in the Capitol right now. Her hair is tied up in a purple turban (assuming there is hair under there), with a purple dress swathed in layers around her bony body to match.

The plump, kind woman grabs my hand, pulling me towards a chair that is in the center of the room. I sit, allowing for her to mess with my hair. From here, I see the third member of my prep team more closely. This one is male. He has a cool look, with steely grey hair, dark eyes, and clad in black. He looks pretty normal, for a Capitol citizen, I observe. He catches my eyes, stepping forward.

"I am Orde, the woman currently pulling on your hair is Lima, and the woman currently judging you is Wamilda," he says with a dry sense of humor to his voice. It soothes me, for some odd reason. He seems truer and more natural than the others, almost like he could belong in one of the districts.

Lima is offended at his words, but Wamilda just laughs dryly, her tone matching Orde's as the two banter, ignoring Lima's incessant complaints. I close my eyes, letting myself relax more as I accept these people as my prep team. I'd overheard some of the horror stories kids spread at school about prep teams, that they used flame throwers and bombs to make the tributes look good, so I accepted when Lima started to roughly pull on my hair with brushes and other tools. At least they wouldn't kill me.

I was a little self-conscious when they stripped me naked, though. I know that it's a part of getting prepared, but I was still insecure, nonetheless. They didn't react, but rather got right into it, laying sticky strips on the parts of my body that were covered up before, pulling them off quickly, ripping any body hair off of me. I grit my teeth roughly, tears prickling in the corners of my eyes at the pain.

After two hours of scraping, pricking, brushing, and sticking, my prep team was satisfied. Lima chattered like an overexcited bird, while Orde and Wamilda stood back, eyes scanning over me carefully. I didn't like being analyzed like this, so I was more than happy when Orde handed me a plain, white robe. I thankfully slid into it, shaking a little at the coldness of the room.

When it was time for the odd trio to leave, Lima pressed a hurried kiss against my temple, wiping away the tears that fell out of her eyes. I thought she was a little dramatic, but then again, who in the Capitol isn't? Wamilda simply nods her head at me, then leaves with Lima, practically having to carry her out of the room. Orde is the last to bid me farewell as he places a kiss to the back of my hand.

"Until we meet again," he says in that dry voice before he leaves as well, trailing behind Wamilda and Lima.

I sit in the chair in the cold room for a while longer before an Avox comes to retrieve me. I follow them into a grand, ostentatious room that is decorated to the extent that the train was. I don't notice anyone else in the room until I hear someone softly clearing their throat. I look to my right and see the owner of the sound.

There was no mistaking that this man was elderly, whereas with Wamilda I was unsure. The man has long, draping white whiskers that reach past his shoulders. His equally snowy hair is styled upwards, almost spiked. He has a dangerously sharp wit to him, and his eyes bore into me intensely, but he doesn't seem unkind.

He slowly advanced towards me, examining me closely. I was just waiting for the moment he would ask me to take my robe off, but thankfully, he didn't. He nods his head as he walks a circle around me. I feel his eyes roam over me in a critical way. In the past two days, I'd been assessed and judged more times physically than I ever had in my whole life.

Once the man made a full circle around me, he stopped in front of me. He gestured for me to follow him with a simple wave of an ancient hand. I follow behind him politely, almost carefully. For some reason, I really didn't want to get on his bad side, especially because he was my designer, and he decides what to dress me in, and I, for one, really didn't want to go out there naked or indecent.

The glass door slides open for him as he walks over the threshold. I follow him in the smaller, quainter room. I am surprised to see bookshelves with actual books in them. A small, wooden desk sits at the far end of the room, next to an empty mannequin. The room as a whole feels warm, a strange thing to call a room in the Capitol, for sure, but what really catches my eye is the thing that the older man is currently pulling out of a garment bag.

District 1 is luxury, so, naturally, we were the best dressed tributes, but my designer appears to have outdone himself on this one. The dress appears to be one gem. It's long and white, with a billowy bottom and a more fitted bodice that extended down to the waist. As he brings it closer, I inspect that the entire thing is actually made of lace and a see-through mesh, with pearls and diamonds seemingly threaded throughout the whole thing. My breath is taken away at the beauty of it, and I'm also more than thankful that it's modest and I won't be naked.

He gently thrusts the dress at me, looking at me expectantly. I take the dress from him as he turns around to give me privacy. I inwardly thank him as I slide my robe off, gently kicking it off to the side as I carefully take the dress off its hanger. The small tag inside reads _Gomo_, and I assume it's the name of the elderly man in front of me. I slide the dress on, turning around to look in the full length mirror I'd noticed earlier in the room.

I can't fight back a smile at the person who stands before me. Not only are my bags gone and the sickness that had developed on my skin gone, but this girl isn't me. This girl is beautiful, strong, and confident, all things I never considered to be me. I was always told that if a dress could make you feel like things you felt you weren't, then it was a good dress made by a good designer.

The dress looks like it's floating on me, as the see-through mesh blends to my skin, but with the lace and other gems covering me, it looks like the whole thing is just an ethereal dream, like it's not real. Gomo appears at my shoulder, looking over it and into the mirror to see me.

"Good," the old man whispers the first thing he's said yet, more to himself than to me. He turns around, grabbing something, then turns back around to me, presenting a pair of white heels and pearl earrings. I am immediately reminded of my mother's necklace, and my stomach turns. I forgot it on the train.

Fighting back an emotion, I smile softly to him, taking the shoes and earrings. I quickly slide the earrings in and then get into my shoes. I wobble a little as I stand straight up, but quickly become accustomed to the extra height and challenges the heels present in walking.

He gently takes my long hair, laying it behind me. He then taps my shoulder, nodding. "You are ready," he says, this time to me.

I nod, taking a deep breath as my smile grows ever so slightly. "Thank you."

He nods once more before placing his hand at the small of my back, escorting me out of the room. It's time for the Tribute Parade, and he waves me goodbye as I leave the room, Gloss waiting for me outside. His appearance surprises me, but I'm thankful nonetheless. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it as he drinks in my appearance. I swallow the dry lump in my throat, smiling shyly.

"Hi," I greet him quietly.

It takes him a moment to respond. "You look perfect. The sponsors are going to love you." He then adds, "But, I think you're missing something." He then fishes around in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, pulling out the pearl necklace that I know all too well.

I can't fight back the grin as he brushes my hair out of the way, clasping the necklace. I was shocked at the fact that he had it in the first place, but I was extremely thankful for it. The gesture of him putting the necklace on me reminds me of my mother, and I have to remind myself that everything will be okay. I hope.

"Thank you," I decide not to question on how he had happened upon my necklace. He flashes me a charming smile as he offers his arm to me. I take it, thankful for his stability as I take a few wobbly steps in my heels, but, thankfully, don't go down. He escorts me to where a chariot awaits, my district partner waiting for me as Cashmere frets over every facet of his outfit. His hair is slicked back and his white suit matches mine, with pearls and diamonds emblazoned on his pocket.

As Sheen sees me, his eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh, wow. You look great," he says.

I smile at him. "Thank you. You look good, too."

Cashmere perks up at this. "Oh, honey, you look absolutely gorgeous. I wish your designer had a brain in that bald head of hers," Cashmere spat the second sentence out at Sheen.

I don't see anything wrong with Sheen's appearance, but decide against trying to argue with Cashmere. That seemed like a mistake that Sheen had already made. Gloss makes his way over to Cashmere, calming her down as he starts some light conversation with her. Without her scrutinizing eye bearing down on him, Sheen makes his way over to me as we both look at the tributes that were lined up behind us.

District 2 looks like two boulders, District 3 looks like robots, District 4 looks like fish, and the stereotypes go all the way down the line until the District 12 coal miners. Sheen swallows the lump in his throat, looking over at me. "So this is really it, isn't it? We're doing the Hunger Games," I can hear the fear in his voice as he speaks.

"This is it," I reply, nodding in agreement, analyzing everyone. Those who scared me as I watched the Reaping yesterday still scare me today, maybe even more so today, now that I see them in person. I see the confident look that the male from 2 has, the all-knowing air from the female from 3, and the grim determination from the male from 11.

Suddenly, a bell goes off, and the mentors are getting their tributes in their chariots. I turn back around, walking the short distance to the chariot. Sheen stands beside me as Cashmere fixes and primps our clothes, Gloss standing back, letting her do her job. He comes up beside us, speaking so both of Sheen and I can hear.

"I want you two to be winners, not friends, or enemies. You'll be respectful and polite to the crowd, but not exaggerating it. I don't want you to look happy. You're going to be in the Hunger Games," he says, knowing exactly what he wants out of us. We nod understandingly as the black horses that pull our chariot suddenly start moving, and right then, the Hunger Games begins.

As we come into the light, the crowd goes absolutely wild. The crowd roars and cheers, screaming our names. I try to look as regal and composed as I can as I see myself appear on a huge screen before us. The crowd apparently likes it, as they start screaming even more, if that was possible. They throw roses down once more, decorating the way in reds, whites, pinks, and yellows.

Our chariot pulls into the circle and we wait for the others. Soon, District 2 pulls up beside us, then 3, then 4, and so on. I glance over at Sheen and he gives me a reassuring smile. We're both shaking with nerves, but we did it. We made it through the Tribute Parade. One step closer to either death or survival.

Once all of the chariots have assembled, the leader of our country, President Snow, makes his appearance known as he strides with confidence to the microphone. His white beard and hair are perfectly trimmed and manicured, and his suit is meticulous and professional as his crisp voice booms over the microphone. Instantly, everyone is quiet.

A chill runs down my spine as I realize something, something I didn't really want to realize. His voice was the same voice that I had heard in my nightmare last night.

_"__May the odds be ever in your favor."_

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know what you guys think! As always, favorites, follows, and reviews make me very happy and motivated, so don't be shy to voice your opinion! <strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome to Chapter Three, valued readers! This one is a continuation from Chapter Two, as I figured it would be better to split the two up, so it wouldn't be just one extremely long chapter. **

**In this chapter, we recap the Tribute Parade, more Gloss and Jet interaction, and some small backstory reveals on Jet and Gloss yay!**

**As always, thank you for the follows and views! They really help me to fire out these chapters much faster!**

* * *

><p>President Snow continues his speech, eyes sharp like an eagle's sweeping down to analyze all 24 of us tributes. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as his cold, calculating gaze meets mine, holding it a moment before pulling away. I swallow the dry lump in my throat as my heart thunders in my chest.<p>

As he pronounces his last word, the crowd goes up in excitement again, screaming and hollering for their favorite tributes. The chariots start to pull away, taking us back to where we would be reunited with our mentors. I wave a final farewell to the crowd, receiving even more yells of encouragement and admiration.

Once our chariot pulls to a stop, Gloss and Cashmere greet us. As always, Gloss wears a charming smile, as Cashmere (for the first time I'd seen ever), also wears a pleased look. She gives a small clap of her hands, striding over to us, picking up my dress as I step down from the chariot.

"Great performance, you two. We've already gotten some promising offers from sponsors," Cashmere reports with a satisfied nod of her head.

I smile politely, giving a nod of my head. I glance around me, spotting a strange glare from the volunteer from District 11. Gloss suddenly comes into my view. My eyes instantly flicker up to meet his as he has a joking smirk on those perfect lips.

Fabulous. Even more distraction. Just what I need.

"Someone catch your eye?" he asks playfully, perking a golden brow in inquisition.

At first, I panic, completely forgetting the boy from 11 for a moment. _Oh, crap, he's onto me_, I think dreadfully. "Just scoping out the competition," I answer coolly, surprised that I had been able to speak at all, let alone say something smart and not totally flounder over myself.

His brow goes higher as he crosses his arms, glancing behind him. He nods slowly then returns to look at me. "The farmer who volunteered, huh? Not bad." He still has a joking banter in his voice, and I fight the urge to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

"It's not like that," I respond haughtily, a touch of defensiveness to my voice as I roll my eyes. Was he being serious? Did he really think I had an infatuation with that boy from 11?

"Oh, I finally got under your skin, eh? I'm just kidding," he gently gives my arm a pat, laughing heartily, then adds, "Let's go before they leave us behind them." He gestures to Cashmere, Sheen, and Teris, who are beginning to leave. I'm surprised to see Teris. I hadn't noticed him earlier, he hadn't really helped with the parade itself, and he was even harder to recognize without his bright blue attire. He had gone for a much more subtle look today; hair a warm, cinnamon color and clad in a cream suit that vaguely resembled Sheen's.

Gloss and I make our ways over to them. He joins Cashmere's side once again as I fall slightly behind everyone else, a bemused smile on my lips. Teris twitters and exclaims about how the Capitol already loves us, and how the people of the Capitol are going to have such a great Hunger Games this year, et cetera, et cetera. I can't help but shake my head a little. It's the same every year for him, why would this year be so special? Capitol people just have to make a big deal about everything.

We arrive at an elevator, Cashmere pressing the "1" on the control panel. The elevator shoots up with a small purr from its technologically advanced engine. We are at our floor in seconds, the elevator doors sliding easily before us. Teris is the first one to step out, gesturing around him.

"Welcome to some of the best the Capitol has to offer, tributes!" He exclaims with excitement, turning around to face us, gesturing for us to join him as a huge grin adorns his features. Cashmere leads the rest of us out of the elevator as we join the over excited escort. He goes on to ramble about the extravagances the Capitol offers, but I tune him out as I look around for myself.

_The best the Capitol has to offer, while most people in the districts don't even have a place to live, let alone enjoy themselves_, I muse bitterly as I note the excellent craftsmanship exuded and boasted from all of the elaborate lounges, chairs, and tables. From the top of the prim ceiling to the opulent rugs, no expense was wasted, that was sure. Chandeliers made from the finest of crystals hung over the main dining table, the light illuminating every single detail that was lain out on the table.

It feels wrong to try to enjoy myself, while I know what's happening in some districts that aren't that well off as mine. I, personally, have never starved or been unsure if I was going to have a place to sleep for the night, but in poorer districts like 11 and 12, they must suffer terribly. Our group migrates to the dining room, seating ourselves around the long, heavily decorated glass table.

We sit in the similar seating arrangements we had on the train; Teris at the head, Sheen and I next to each other, and Gloss and Cashmere opposite of us. As if they appear out of thin air, Avoxes are soon bustling around us, laying down dishes covered with a silver dome. They bring cups, filling mine and Sheen's with water again, then bringing out something else for the mentors and Teris.

As everyone settles in and starts eating the television turns on from in the main room. We adjust our seats, listening to the National Anthem and watching the crest of Panem flashing on the screen. I feel my stomach flop as Caesar Flickerman appears on the television, suave charm about him as he starts the recap of the opening ceremony.

The screen transitions over to the tributes in the starting place. I feel my cheeks turning hot as I see myself climbing into the chariot, Cashmere fussing about my partner and me. I glance over to see her, but instead catch Gloss's eye.

Of course.

He gives me that intoxicating smile before returning his attention to the screen. I do the same as a small blush creeps onto my features, fighting the urge to look back at him. This golden angel of a man seems to have strange effects on me, I know that much for sure.

As the time progresses on the screen, we see Sheen and I emerge from the starting place, looking ethereal and alight, embodying the very gems that represent our district and decorate our costumes. I feel a small sense of pride as I watch myself not even flinch or falter at the cacophonous crowd around me. I look as elegant and beautiful as a diamond.

The feed continues to show the rest of the tributes. None made a huge impression on me, or the crowd apparently, until District 10- livestock. Their impression wasn't positive, necessarily, however, at least on me. Their stylists had strung actual meat from an animal on them, the blood still in the meat, streaming down the tributes' bodies and onto their chariot. I watch with morbid fascination as the blood trails back from the chariot and onto the road behind it, a line of red following the chariot.

Blood. What a seemingly invisible, insignificant thing, but actually keeps us alive. In a few days, all there would be would be blood. Everywhere, but that's what the Capitol wanted; a good show, and you could only get that if there was blood and gore, everyone knew that. My stomach rolls a little as I think about it, deciding to push the topic to the back of my mind.

After the chariots had assembled, the cameras caught President's Snow speech. His voice commanding and serious as he delivers it, looking into the face of everyone he sees. I watch as his eyes stop on me on the screen, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, feeling like he's looking right at me in the room right now.

Once Snow's speech is over, the cameras do one more close-up of our faces before going dark, the National Anthem playing, signaling the end of the program. The screen flicks off and I rise from my chair. It's agreed upon all of us that it's time to sleep. We bid mumbled farewells to one another before retiring to our quarters.

My private quarters are much like the one on the train, except larger, obviously. The same expensive furnishings decorate the room, a bed in the middle of the room and a bathroom branching off to the side. The glass door opens before me then closes. I get undressed from the elaborate dress from the Tribute Parade.

Holding the dress away from me, I admire it more, watching the way the lights in my room reflect off of the masterfully added gems. I smile to myself, knowing that Gomo was going to make me another dress for the interviews. I can't wait to see his work for that, as well.

Deciding on a quick shower before bed, I pad over to the bathroom, picking random settings as I take a quick shower, just determined to sleep at this point. The dryers blow and brush my hair perfectly as I stand before the mirror, getting some of the makeup off of my face that I couldn't get off in the shower.

Picking up the pair of identical pajamas from last night, I slip them over my body, relishing the feel of expensive silk on my skin. My mother had a silk dress a long time ago, she'd told me. It was her favorite dress. I feel guilty once more as I finger the material, sighing as I shake my head, walking back into my room. I burrow into the warm bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

><p><em>10…9…<em> A clock is counting down as I glance around me. I'm standing on a metal plate, emotionless people surrounding me. I don't recognize them as I look up to the sky, seeing the blue sky. It reminds me of home at District 1 and I smile, reminiscing.

_8…7… _The clock continues its countdown as the people around me still stand emotionless, not moving an inch at all. Something's wrong.

_6…5… _The familiar bloom of panic blossoms in my chest, spreading and coursing through my body like a deadly toxin. My breathing quickens and my heart beat increases rapidly, trying to leap out of my chest. Something was definitely wrong.

_4…3… _I give another crazed look around me as I see that the people are bending down on one knee in perfect synchronization. They're looking at what's directly in front of them, looking as if they're ready to shoot out of the gate and make a run for it. I wildly turn my head, spotting a giant, golden cornucopia. I swallow, trying to hold back the bile that threatens to come out of my mouth.

_2…1… _A canon fires and then we're all running at once, except I can't keep up. I'm moving too slow. What's going on? I can't move! My legs start to get slower and slower, and I feel like I'm getting closer and closer to the ground, like I'm falling in slow motion.

It seems like forever, but when I reach the cornucopia, I see that the emotionless people have weapons drawn and they're aiming them at my family, my prep team, my mentors, my escort, and my district partner. I try to scream, tell them not to, or tell them to run, but no words come out of my mouth as I try desperately to say something, _anything_.

Then they attack. My family and friends don't even fight back. They just stand there, their pained eyes meeting mine. I try to tell them that I tried to save them, but I wasn't good enough. I couldn't get there in time. I wasn't fast enough.

I couldn't save them.

There's nothing I can do.

* * *

><p>I lurch awake with a start, heart hammering in my chest as my breath comes out in harsh, short, forced breaths. I glance over at the digital clock, seeing that it's two in the morning. I rub my eyes, getting out of the bed and leaving my room. I walk into the dining room, asking an Avox for water as I recognize blonde hair that's becoming all too familiar to me.<p>

Gloss.

I pad over to him, sitting across from him. He perks up, surprised to see me. "A little early to be up, hm?" He asks. He smiles that smile, but I can see that something is troubling him. His eyes show all the pain that he's feeling and the tiredness of his face gives away a restless night.

I nod, replying, "I should be asking you the same thing."

He snorts, shaking his head. "Sharp as a whip when you open your mouth. You should do it more often. You're quite funny."

I return his smile, accepting the glass of water from the Avox as she hands it to me. I take a gulp from it, closing my eyes at the relief it offered. The table was quiet a while longer before Gloss stands, jerking his head to the left.

"Come on, I want to show you something," he says, gesturing for me to follow.

Puzzled but trusting, I follow him, dark brows furrowed as he leads us to the elevator. He pushes a button and then we're off, speeding towards the very top of the Tribute Center. When we arrive, the doors _ding _open as Gloss steps out, offering a hand to me. I take it, following him to a domelike roof.

A garden sits to my left, while straight ahead is the Capitol, in all its beautiful and technologically advanced glory. It's peaceful up here, like a small safe haven.

Gloss takes a seat on the ground, patting the spot next to him. I take him up on his offer, sitting down, crossing my legs as I watch out at the Capitol. He glances at me, a small, nostalgic smile on his face as he lets out a sigh. Not a sad one wholly, but rather bittersweet.

"Most mentors know about this place, but not a lot come up here. I figured it would be good for you to come up here. Relieves a lot of stress," he says after a moment of silence.

"It's beautiful. Thank you for showing me," I say softly, touched and surprised at his sincerity.

"I believe in you, you know. You really shocked me yesterday. It's not too often that we get tributes who _don't _want to spill blood," he looks over at me, a look of pride adorning his handsome features.

"Did you?" I blurt out, not thinking about the fact that it probably wasn't a good question to ask a Victor of the Hunger Games. Most, if not all, had at least some kind of psychological damage from the Games. They can ruin a person.

Gloss is silent a moment before letting out a long sigh, this one full of remorse and guilt. "To be completely honest with you, yes. I did. I wanted the glory. I wanted to bring my district pride, yada yada yada," he gestures, shaking his head. "I would slap myself if I could back then. I was an immature child. I didn't know any better." He looks over at me, "But you seem to know."

I nod, clearing my throat softly. "I'd heard about what the Games can do to a person. I didn't want to throw away my humanity for a crown."

He speaks gravely and softly, more to himself than to me, "It's not just the crown you get."

I furrow my brows at this, but he just shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "So, what did you do back home, besides be quiet?" He winks and all of the charisma and charm immediately replace the raw form of Gloss that I had just seen.

I shake my head at his observation of my quietness, blushing a little as I grin, hair falling in front of my eyes as I bring my knees up to my chest. "I didn't really do anything," I say quietly, shrugging. I'd rather us not have a conversation about me.

"Oh, come on, I don't buy that for a second," Gloss prods, shaking his head as he cranes his neck to look at me.

I shrug, sighing softly. "I liked to write back home," I confess, just waiting for him to start laughing at me.

He didn't laugh, surprisingly. He looked interested, actually. "About what?" He digs further.

I clear my throat, sounding as casual and nonchalant as possible. It really hadn't sunken in that I was sitting here talking to him until he moved a little closer to me. "Life, in a general sense," I say, turning my head to look at him.

His gaze meets mine as a perfect brow quirks, a crooked smile on his lips. "And what have you learned about life?"

"People are weird," I blurt out, meaning it. After documenting people's actions, including my own, for a long time, I'd learned just that; people are weird.

Gloss chuckles, pearly white teeth flashing me. "You're really something."

"Is that a bad thing?" I ask, arching a dark brow to mirror his own expression.

He looks me straight in the eyes, letting me know he was being sincere. "Of course not. Quite the contrary," he says softly, his tone of voice surprising me.

I nod, biting my lip as I joke, "Are all Careers as suave as you?"

He lets out a genuine laugh, the sound pulling my heart strings as he shakes his head profusely. "Oh, no, no, no. I'm one of a kind."  
><em>You sure are<em>, I say to myself, giggling softly at his reaction.

"What about family?" He asks curiously.

"Well, I'm the only child, my mother stays at home with me most of the time, and my father's the mayor," I reply, trying not to think about them too much. Thinking means remembering, and remembering means hurting.

"Oh, that's right. You look like him," Gloss observes, looking at me in the same way he did when we first met; studious and thoughtful.

I try not to squirm under his intense gaze as I clear my throat, "How about you? What's your family like?"  
>He shrugs, looking straight ahead of him. "Cashmere's my only sibling; the only form of family I've still got, actually. Our parents died not too long ago," he says shortly. I can tell it's a painful topic for him, so I don't push it as I nod understandingly.<p>

He's silent for a long while, looking straight ahead. I take a deep breath, preparing to do something I wouldn't have done in a million years, but I know he's hurting. Carefully, I lay my hand on his and lean my body against his, my head resting on his shoulder. He tenses a little at first, unsure, but then slowly relaxes. We stay like that for a long time, but it only feels like a short moment.

With a small sigh, he says, "It's way past your bedtime. I should be getting you to sleep. I'm a terrible mentor." He stands up, offering a hand to me once more. I take it thankfully and wordlessly. He helps pull me up as he leads us back to the elevator. I don't want to leave this small paradise, but I know that I needed to try to get at least some sleep. Training starts tomorrow, and I don't want to be half dead.

We are silent for the rest of the trip back until he bids me goodnight as we part to go to our chambers. I slide back in my bed, pulling the covers over my head as a smile remains plastered on my lips.

I realize, as I lay there in the Capitol bed, that Gloss showed me a different side of him tonight. Sure, I'd only known him for a couple days now, but every time we'd had a chance to talk, he'd been very polite and professional with signature charm and charisma. He'd relaxed around me tonight, showing a raw, true form of himself; showing some emotion for once. I won't forget that.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew, another chapter down. I haven't written with this much passion for a story in a long time. I have a lot of plans for it, and I think you guys will enjoy them! Well, at least I do. As always, please favorite, follow, and review! Feedback is always a huge help.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Welcome to Chapter 4! I'm so glad that you guys seem to be liking things so far. I'll definitely keep it up!**

**Sorry for the shorter chapter today. I'm kind of half dead, heh.**

**In this chapter, it is the first day of training. Jet shows Sheen up, Sheen is a pretentious ass, and we get to meet new tributes yay!**

**Also, I decided to have the mentors watch the tributes train. I think that normally it's the game makers who watch, but oh well. This allows for more possible interaction between Jet and Gloss, and that's the best!**

**As always, reviews, favorites, and follows are always well appreciated.**

* * *

><p><em>Beep. Beep. <em>I am rattled awake as I hear the sound emanating from something beside me. Annoyed, I roll over, cracking my eyes open a pinch as I turn the device off. I let out a long, loud sigh as I slowly sit up, stretching my arms above my head as the blankets pool around my waist. I get up from the bed, making my way over to the bathroom to complete my morning ritual.

I put on the clothes provided for me- a pair of dark, form fitting exercise clothes with a patch of cloth attached to the sleeve of my shirt, a silver "1" emblazoned on it, naming my district. After my hair was brushed from the air current above me, I tie it back behind my face. Today was the first day of training, and I didn't want to battle with my thick, untamable hair today. I wash my face with some cold water from the sink at an attempt to wake myself up. It works, maybe a little too well, as I blink profusely a few times, trying to get rid of the frigid water from seeping anymore into my eyes.

Sighing at the bags that seem to be getting worse and worse and every day, I give a dejected sigh as I make my way out of my quarters and out to the dining room. Like yesterday, Gloss is sitting there, an intent look on his face as he goes over what appears to be stationary. I quietly make my way over to the table, pulling out my chair opposite him, glancing down at breakfast before grabbing my fork and starting to eat.

By now, Gloss looks at me, a slight smile playing on his lips as he sets down the piece of stationary. "Good morning," he says charmingly.

I return his small smile. "Good morning to you, too," I reply between bites of food. I wait for him to bring up last night, but I'm glad he doesn't. It was just a mish mash of confusing feelings that I really didn't want to think about right now. I have enough on my plate, being in the Hunger Games and all.

I glance down at the piece of paper that Glass had been reading, arching my brow. He gives a gentle sigh, smoothing the letter and folding it up, tucking it in his pocket. "It's something Snow sent the mentors. He wants us to watch the tributes train this year," he says, a smirk appearing on his lips.

My stomach drops as I have a hard time swallowing the next bit of food, deciding that was enough as I put the utensil down. I can't help but feel panic as I think of everyone watching me, especially _him_. I feign a smile, misleading the internal anxiety I was feeling as I took a tentative sip of water.

I was so screwed.

Desperate to hear his calming voice, I do my best to keep conversation going, "So, do you want me to show off or hide my skills?" I ask, referring to training.

He ponders the question a moment before clearing his throat, "I don't want you to show people you could be considered a threat, but I also want them to see that you aren't going to be an easy kill, either. You don't want that kind of attention."

I take in his words, nodding. "What about Sheen and the Careers? Won't they expect me to do something?"

He shrugs, "Not all Careers are that good at weaponry. Just be good enough that they won't disown you, but don't try to show any of them up, either. Let Sheen do that. I'm sure he'll jump on the chance."

"What did you do?" I ask, hoping it wasn't too sensitive of a topic.

I was relieved when he grins, a chuckle emanating from the back of his throat in a deep, extremely attractive sound. "Oh, I showed off so much, I'm surprised I even made the Blood Bath."

"And look at you now," I reply, smiling infectiously.

He nods, his smile turning more earnest as he makes eye contact with me. "I've learned some things from then."

The rest of breakfast was quiet until it was time for me to start training. Gloss and I made our ways over to the elevator. I remind myself to keep taking breaths as the elevator starts to descend to the bottom level. Gloss senses my discomfort, and to my surprise (and delight), he gently rests a hand against the small of my back.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine. Everyone will be watching your district partner making a fool of himself, anyways," he says, accompanying his soothing statement with a wink.

I feel the breath leave my lungs for a moment and I'm unable to speak, so I just nod, a look of wonder in my eyes as I drink in his features. We stand like this for as long as the ride lasts. I try to enjoy every second of his calming presence, but then the doors are sliding open, and he uses his previously placed hand to usher me forward.

Once we step out of the elevator, we are met with Sheen and Cashmere. Sheen is wearing a similar outfit to mine, but a shade darker and not as form fitting. As I look at him more closely, I notice that he appears to be just as weary as me. It probably doesn't help that the commandeering Cashmere is his mentor, either, but he looks just as tired as I was, and just as scared. We were just children, after all, and we were going in there to preen and demonstrate our killing skills.

Doors slide open before us as we enter the Training Center. The first thing I notice is that there aren't that many people here yet. The second thing I notice is a boy laying down on the ground in a pool of blood. Lovely.

Cashmere and Gloss split off to join the other mentors as Sheen and I advance to the center of the room. People I've never seen before in my life as surrounding the boy, who appears to have either been stabbed or stabbed himself. I find out that it's the latter, but due to an accident, or rather his own clumsiness.

He's a young looking boy from District 8, with curly auburn hair and freckles dusting his pale face. A pained look overtakes his face as he wheezes and winces when the head trainer, Venus, wrenches the knife from his stomach. The cut isn't deep or fatal, but I can tell from the looks he's getting from everyone that soon enough, he will be dead. As will everyone in this room but one.

By now, the entire cast of tributes is present, and the District 8 boy has been cleaned up and bandaged. We assemble in numerical order of our districts, so naturally, I'm alienated and cast to the outside as Sheen stands next to District 2, already talking about the alliance all Careers take. I glance over at them, swallowing the lump in my throat as the male from District 2 catches my eye, an analyzing eye going over me quickly. This isn't like Gloss, though, or even Gomo. I can see the lust in the boy's eyes, and a shiver of disgust shudders through me as I turn my head, listening to Venus as she explains what is expected of us and whatnot.

Once we are dismissed to train, I flitter my eyes up to the balcony, seeing the mentors. Some are sitting, watching intently. Others are socializing and enjoying themselves, such as Gloss and Cashmere. Most, however, just look disconnected and destroyed. I avert my eyes as I lock gazes with one who looks particularly mad.

I trail behind Sheen, knowing full well that I can't change my Career status, so I may as well embrace it. I watch as the trio joke and shove each other playfully. When they notice me following like a lost puppy, they park it at the spear throwing station. The male from 2 steps closer to me, a smug look on his lips as he crosses thick, muscular arms over a burly chest.

He definitely looks like he could be 21, easily. His dark hair is cropped short and close to his head. Surprising soft blue eyes meet mine and I stifle a laugh at the dramatic irony of his appearance. _The killer with the soft eyes_, I say to myself, a small smile gracing my lips at the irony that screams at me. Obviously, he thought I was smiling to see him. He sticks his chest out even more (totally unnecessary), and steps even closer to me. I glance over to Sheen, who is picking up a spear, practicing the arc before he throws. _Wrong, wrong_, I chide, wanting to say something to help my district partner, but finding myself compromised with Mister Macho.

I look at the huge boy, an irritated look in my eye. "Yes?" I ask, almost surprised at myself for speaking. Under most circumstances, I would have been quiet, but in the Hunger Games, it's all about slipping under the radar or proving that you're capable of defending yourself, and the way this boy was looking at me like I was a meal, I figure the latter is a better decision at this moment.

I'm dully aware of the sound of the clattering of a weapon and the sound of feminine laughter, turning my head to see that Sheen has indeed missed the target, by a lot, and the girl from 2 is laughing. I give an impatient sigh, looking back at the monster of a boy that was inconveniently placed. He just shakes his head, an incredulous look on his face.

"What are you even doing here? You look like you could be devoured at any moment," he speaks, low and deep so no one else can hear our exchange. I curl my upper lip as I curve a brow in disgust, taking a step back.

I say nothing, but rather turn my back to him, walking over to the spear throwing station. I remember Gloss' advice, and knowing that I was a potential target for 2, I pick up the spear, eyeing my target carefully before hefting it, throwing it in a half-hearted manner. The tip strikes the dummy's kidney. Not a fatal shot, but enough to provide complications. I turn to look at my fellow Careers, seeing Sheen blush with embarrassment.

"Gregor," the giant boy from 2 says.

I quirk a brow in confusion. "What?"

"Name's Gregor, and this is Ameda," the big brute gestures to his district partner, a girl of medium height, not as tall as me, but much stronger looking. Her hair was straight, colored strawberry blonde and it fell just past her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and harsh, a strange sort of passion glowing in them. She is confident in her skills, and she believes she can win this. I can see it, plain as day. A smirk appears on her thin lips as she crosses her arms, quirking a brow.

"Welcome to the Careers. I'm not sure we can say the same, for your friend, though," she says, a bigger smirk appearing on her face as Gregor slaps the back of Sheen's head. Sheen lets out a small, nervous chuckle as he scratches the back of his neck, acting like it didn't bother him.

I say nothing to Ameda's welcome. I feel sick as I glance around at me, at the tributes who look so fragile and thin they could pass as dolls that sit on a shelf, never been touched or moved. Most look absolutely terrified and unsure. I have a hard time deciphering whether it was an act or if it was genuine; probably a mixture of both. Often times, tributes will glance our way, eyes huge and alarmed like a deer's.

I sigh as we make our way over to the sword station, where Gregor spars with one of the Capitol trainers. I decide to wander off from the group, not really wanting to practice skills I wasn't going to use. I don't plan on ever getting close enough to someone to use a sword. I can feel eyes on me from tributes and mentors alike as I make my way over to the food testing station, where we test our skills to see if we know which ones are poisonous.

The first few times don't go well, as I miss most of them. I shake my head, determined not to give up. Eventually, I start to understand the patterns and the ways you can distinguish which ones are poisonous and which ones are not. I run through the test one more time, satisfied when I miss only four of 30. Glancing around me, I see that Gregor is now doing hand-to-hand-combat, Ameda is practicing her marksmanship with a bow and arrow, which she isn't the greatest at, and Sheen is trying his hand at tying knots. I'm a little surprised that he tried that, as I figure him to show off like the other two. I make my way over to him, flashing him a small smile as I join him.

"Hey," I say quietly, trying to make a simple double knot with the rope provided. The trainer continues to talk about how important knots could be, but I zone them out, listening to Sheen.

"Hi," he says quietly, his shoulders slumped a little.

I feel bad that the other two are giving him such a hard time, but there's really nothing I can do. It's better for him to be humbled while training rather than in the actual Games. Hopefully now he'll also see that you can't trust anyone, even the ones you think you can. That was what Gloss told me.

I finish the knot easily, then move onto a more difficult one next. I speak in a low voice next, "You don't have to be a Career, you know." I finish the knot easily, the trainer giving me a eye of approval as I move on.

He looks at me incredulously, scoffing. "Are you kidding me? I've been training for this moment all of my life. So have you," he adds at the end, eyes flashing with anger.

I feel my own form of anger rise in my chest as I shake my head, speaking in a low hiss. "Not all of us want to kill people."

"Not all of you want to win, then," he retorts bitterly, throwing down the piece of rope. I notice that he had still been working on the first knot as he stomped away, engaging in vigorous, blind, and angry fighting with a trainer, something we were always taught not to do. Anger leads to mistake, and mistake leads to death. I wince as the trainer throws him down to the ground, Ameda and Gregor starting to laugh again.

I decide to separate from the scene, not wanting to get involved in the small fight that ensued between Gregor and Sheen. As I make my way to the archery station, a bell sounds, and Venus announces it's time for lunch and that training for the day was concluded. I follow the sea of tributes as we mill out and into a cafeteria, where there are 12 tables for the 12 districts. Naturally, the Careers sit together, and the other small alliances that are formed during training also sit together.

Gregor and Ameda seat themselves and Sheen and I follow. Avoxes set out our food for us as we sit, and I carefully start eating. The table is eerily quiet, and I have a hard time looking anyone in the eye as I just stare down at the floor, my cheeks flushing a light shade of red as I feel Gregor staring at me.

I look around at the tables surrounding us. People are still filing in, trying to find a place to sit. My eyes make contact with the District 11 male, and he starts to make his way over to us. I avert my eyes, looking down again. I'm sure that Gregor won't want him here. He'll just leave.

I hear a chair being slid out from under the table, then the sound of someone getting situated in their seat. I glance up, seeing the boy make eye contact with Gregor, whom he must recognize as the leader of us. His olive skin is not a popular occurrence in District 11, I know that much, but I have heard of it. His dark hair is spiked up, and those intense, dangerous eyes scan over all of us. We understand what he wants, but the question is whether we, or rather they, think he deserves it or not.

Gregor leans back in the chair, tilting his head back as he puffs his chest out, a smirk curling on his lips. "And just who in the hell do you think you are?"

The boy speaks quietly, but with affirmation ad firmness. "I came here for an alliance. I'm Wyatt."

"And what makes you think you're good enough?" I'm shocked to hear that come out of Sheen's mouth.

Wyatt simply shrugs and gestures to me. "I seem to intimidate her enough."

I narrow my eyes, not saying anything as I glance between Wyatt and Gregor. "If you can kill at least one person in the Blood Bath, I'll consider it, but just know," Gregor pauses, gesturing to me, "We look after our own." I refrain from speaking as I stuff food in my mouth, a feeling similar to thankfulness overcoming me.

The rest of lunch is awkward and uncomfortable. Sheen, Ameda, and Gregor engage in conversation about killing people while Wyatt just stares at me. I can tell that he's deciding whether or not I'll be an easy kill; how much I'll fight back, or scream, or how much blood it'll take before I'll bleed out. I've seen how people operate in the Hunger Games, and everyone sitting at this table with me is willing to do those things.

The thought chills me to the bone. There really isn't a chance for me, is there?

* * *

><p><strong>So what do you guys think about our lovely Careers and the aloof Wyatt? What about Sheen? And, of course, how could we forget about the boy who ran into a knife? (There actually isn't any significance to "Blade Boy", I just put in some comic relief for my fellow acerbic witted friends).<strong>

**Also, because I have received my first reviews, I plan on having little answers to your guys' reviews down here.**

**abc500: Huge thanks to you for being the first reviewer! Like seriously, you pretty much made my whole day. I'm glad you enjoy my OC and portrayal of Gloss. Who knows if Jet will be able to defend herself if it means killing someone? Maybe Jet will just hide in a tree the whole games? And if there aren't any trees? DUN DUN DUN. Pushing aside my dramatics, I have some huge plans for this story! I am very excited to be writing it and don't plan on slowing down anytime soon. Again, thank you for your review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome to Chapter Five! Because of all the attention this story's been getting (it may not seem like a lot to some people, but after taking a year off, I'm glad to see something of mine get this much attention, in my opinion), I think I'm going to try to update a lot over the weekend! I seriously am so obsessed with writing this. I love writing about the struggles of the Hunger Games in general, but when I concocted Jet, it just got even more exciting, and with more depth. I feel flexible and free to do a lot of things with this, as I feel Jet is very mature and can adapt easily.**

**I'll stop rambling and let you guys read, I promise.**

**In this chapter, we see more interaction between Jet and Gloss, Jet has a mental breakdown, Gloss gives us a shocking confession, Sheen has a hard time and maybe gets a lesson in humility and finally understands what the Hunger Games is all about, and more insight to the way Jet takes things, as I actually have her talk some in this chapter! To almost complete strangers! *gasps***

**Also, I should probably make it a note to tell you guys that this chapter is kind of depressing, for some reason. Well, at least it felt like that when I wrote it. Then again, I was also listening to my sappy playlists.**

**Okay, I'm done now! As always, reviews, favorites, and follows are always well appreciated!**

* * *

><p>As we gather around the dinner table, it is silent for the most part, except for Teris' constant and senseless prattle. I stab the food uninterested as I place a hand at my temple, gently rubbing away the ache that had gathered there.<p>

After lunch, things had been uneventful. I'd went in my room to do some philosophical thinking and strategizing on my own, as the mentors were busy having some type of meeting with President Snow. Sheen hadn't said anything to me when we were back. He'd just locked himself in his room, similar to what I'd done myself, leaving our escort with a flabbergasted look at our indifference toward each other and socialization in general. He went on to say how that wasn't going to get us any sponsors, blah, blah, blah.

Now, I'm feeling exhausted and run down as the party of District 1 is awkwardly still in silence, the only sound is the occasional clatter of metallic utensils hitting the bottom of the plate. I glance up at Gloss and he gives me a wink. I quirk my brow at that, but he gives me a dismissive nod, to what I translated as, _We'll talk when no one else is around to hear our strategies and plans_.

Eventually, to break the silence, Cashmere speaks up, "So, how do you think you did in training today?" She perks a brow as she glances between Sheen and me. Her tone isn't necessarily a positive one, to put it lightly. Her eyes are screaming disgust and frustration.

Sheen mumbles something unintelligible while I just shrug. She had seen how Sheen had done, and it was obviously just salt in the wound to him. I think she wanted him to explain himself.

"How do _you _think we did?" I ask, cocking my head to the side at the blonde before me. Gloss clears his throat as a warning as he shakes his head, advising me not to take the conversation any further.

Cashmere shakes her head, a look of annoyance making its appearance known on her pretty face. "I thought you didn't do too bad. I don't think you'll get very far, but I'll think you'll get farther than this oaf."

Gloss gives her a look as he shakes his head again, this time directed at his sister. I try not to let myself get angry at her statement, so I just shrug it off. "Fair enough," I respond shortly, averting my eyes from the siblings that sat across from me.

Teris clears his throat, speaking for the first time that night. He rakes a hand through his purple hair. "I think it'd be best if we didn't talk about this at the table," he spoke in that Capitol accent, and I just plain lost it. I don't know why, or how, really, but I just couldn't take it. I stand up from my chair, then roughly push it in as I sulk back to my quarters. I hear another chair being pushed out, and I guess it's Sheen, as I hear Cashmere's exaggerated sigh.

I sit on my bed, fiercely wiping my eyes, not wanting a drop of the damnable tears to drop. I sniffle softly, running a hand through my hair, doing my best to take deep breaths. I can't take this. I can't do this. The Games are already destroying me, and it's only been the first day of training. Cashmere's right.

I'm going to die.

I'm dully aware of my door being opened. "Not really up for conversation right now," I say shortly, not wanting to talk too long, for fear of my emotion showing in my voice.

"Not even for your favorite mentor?" I hear that voice, and I know instantly that it's Gloss. I curse the smile that appears on my face. I'm supposed to be upset, dammit.

I turn to look at him as he stands in the threshold of my quarters. I shake my head, giving a small sigh. "Okay, fine. You can come in," I give in to him, watching as he walks totally in my room, the door sliding shut behind him. He crosses my room in long strides, seating himself in the armchair that's opposite my bed.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asks tentatively once he's situated, a pensive look on his handsome features as he places the tips of his fingers together, looking at me closely.

I shake my head, sighing at myself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have had an outburst like that. I should apologize," I say quietly, not meeting his eyes.

"For what?" he asks curiously.

"For setting your sister off. She probably hates Sheen and I both now," I sigh, shaking my head once again at the stupid impulsiveness I'd exhibited just minutes earlier. Typically, I'm one to be proud over my hard-to-ignite temper and quiet disposition, but I'd just lost it, resulting from earlier today with my fellow Careers, Cashmere, and that stupid Capitol voice that every despicable person speaks in that lives here. I hate the Capitol and anyone who represents it. They're making us enter this pageant of death for shallow, vapid entertainment for people who have never known a day of hunger or anguish in their lives. The saddest emotion they experience is when their favorite tribute dies. Petty.

"My sister didn't mean what she said, and she doesn't hate either of you. She's frustrated with Sheen, but that's just her. She expects a lot. And, it wasn't you that set her off, trust me. She's been seething since the meeting," he replies evenly to me.

I quirk a brow in inquisition. "What happened?"

"It's best we not talk about it," he says quickly. After a moment of silence, he continues, "I don't want to talk about my sister. I want to talk about you. Why'd you snap?" he repeats his question from earlier.

I shrug, not wanting to seem weak or unstable, but I know it'll come off that way, anyways. "The Games; they're already getting to me."

He nods slowly, leaning back in the armchair. "What about them?"

He was like a therapist, for God's sake. I sigh, frustrated. "I don't know, everything," I finally answer, exasperatedly.

"Did something happen during training I didn't see?" he probes further, arching a golden brow.

I shrug in indifference, cursing him for digging so deep. I just wanted him to drop the subject entirely, but I had a feeling he wouldn't until he got to the bottom of it. "What did you see to begin with?"

"Nothing much. You listened to me pretty well and didn't show yourself off. If you're upset about training, I didn't see anything you did wrong, which would lead me to believe that something happened when I wasn't looking," he answers.

"Why do you care?" I snap angrily. I'm surprised at my harshness, and want to take it back, but the words tumble out of my mouth as my brain scrambles to protect my pride. I don't want to disappoint him, and I definitely don't want him to know about the fact that Wyatt, the District 11 male, knows I fear him and those killer, malicious eyes of his.

"I care because you're my tribute and I want to see you go home, not just be another face in the sky," he confesses, voice raised and filled with passion, his intense eyes locking onto mine.

His words give me goosebumps as I swallow the lump that's gathered in my throat. I'm speechless. He really cares? I'm at a loss for words as I just stare back into his eyes, a silence spreading between us. Eventually he gives a small sigh, his voice and eyes softening as he gently clasps one of my hands in his.

His hand is warm and firm with callouses that don't seem to fit him as he speaks sincerely, "Just don't give up on me yet."

* * *

><p>"Please let me go!" I hear a shrill scream. Whipping my head to the side, I see a large figure holding someone smaller hostage. They're both male, I can see that, but I barely have time to inspect the scene anymore before I hear the metallic <em>shing <em>of a blade being drawn. I watch in hopeless horror as the bulking figure slides the knife across their hostage's throat, blood erupting in a red cascade as garbled, bubbly noises erupt from the captive's throat. They fall to their knees, giving a cough, blood spewing profusely from their mouth and the large, jagged cut that slices through skin and tissue.

I take a step back, my foot crunching on a leaf. I look around at the trees that seem to suddenly appear, then back to the gruesome scene before me. The alive figure turns their head sharply, and as I look, I see that it is Gregor. My eyes widen in terror as he advances on me, a twisted smile on his lips. I turn to run, but I slowly start to sink. I look down, seeing that I'm already knee deep in quick sand. I try to scream, but nothing comes out of my mouth. Gregor is getting closer and closer to me, his knife drawn, the fresh blood from his previous victim still dripping off the edge ominously.

He gets closer and closer still, and my heart pounds wildly in my chest. I try to scream once more, then twice more. I open my mouth again and again, desperately hoping for a sound to come out. Nothing does. As the deranged tribute reaches me, he stops a moment, his cloudy, uncharacteristic eyes meeting mine.

"We look after our own," he says before lunging at me.

* * *

><p>I wake up screaming hysterically, hot, wet tears trailing down my cheeks as I am vaguely aware that I'm safely cradled in a pair of strong arms. I panic immediately, wrenching my body, trying to free myself, thinking it's Gregor that has me trapped. "Let me go! I don't want to die! Please!" I scream out, violently struggling and kicking at the blankets around me, not landing any successful kicks on the person holding me.<p>

"Shh, shh, shh. Calm down. You're safe," a familiar voice says quietly, hot breath tickling my neck. I relax, ceasing my attacks as I glance up, seeing the faint outline of Gloss' features in the moonlight. My breathing slowly starts to slow down as I swallow nervously, still in a state of slight hysteria from my nightmare.

"Gloss?" I tentatively ask, still scared that I was in my unconscious mind.

He nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "It's alright, I'm here now. You're not the first tribute to get nightmares," he speaks in that same, quiet, calm voice as he gently ran his hand through my hair.

"I don't want to die. I can't do this," I say weakly, starting to feel hysteric again as a panic attack seizes me, paralyzing me in crippling anxiety.

"I know, I know," Gloss says soothingly, gently pulling me closer to him. I appreciate the stability he provides me as I turn my body, cuddling against his chest. "Get some sleep. Nothing can get you now. I'm here," he says as he lets out a deep, low sigh.

I slowly fall back into the darkness of sleep, this time, no dreams haunting me.

* * *

><p><em>Nock, aim, loose<em>, I recite like a prayer as I line my arrow up with the target standing before me. At the moment, no one is around me, so I take the advantage to actually brush up on some of my skills. I let the arrow fly and watch with an excited smile as it embeds shaft-deep into the dummy's heart. A fatal shot.

I turn around to pick up another practice arrow from the steel table as I notice Wyatt watching me. Immediately, I put the bow down on the table, avoiding him as I try to walk away, but he side-steps, placing himself in my path as he looks me up and down. "I didn't know you could shoot," he says, looking over at my arrow in the dummy.

I nod, giving him a cool glance. "Lucky shot."

"What game are you trying to play? I've read everyone in this place but you. You're mysterious. You're a Career, yet you want to hide your obvious skills," he gestures at the dummy. "A possible weakness?" he prods, a brow arching.

I don't respond, but rather quickly make my way around him, not wanting to be bothered with small talk anymore. I know that Gloss is going to have a fit over me taking a risk like that, shooting an arrow, but I have to at least know that I can still defend myself in that, arena, if need be.

The thought of Gloss sends a small shiver down my spine as I think of last night. I'd woken up later that morning and Gloss was gone. I'd been worried that it was all just part of the dream, I mean, why wouldn't it be? He'd kind of said he'd cared about me earlier, but that doesn't necessarily mean grounds for cuddling. However, when I'd walked into the dining room in the morning to greet him, he'd asked me if I'd slept any better. Again, I was just a puddle of confused emotions, feeling a little betrayed by my own feelings. Why did I even think that he would ever like me in that regard? I was just a tribute. I recall that when he'd embraced me in his arms, he'd also said that he'd had other tributes have nightmares. Did he hold them like he held me?

I'm so into my own world that I almost run into Sheen. We've been in training for a couple of hours now, but I really didn't spend any time with the Careers today, the trauma of my dream too fresh in my mind, so this was the first time since the morning that I'd seen Sheen. A light layer of sweat is on his skin and his clothes, evidence from working hard. From time to time I would glance over and see him working; sparring, handling swords, and practicing his spear throwing. A grim determination is set in his eyes and the sight almost makes my stomach drop to my feet. I always thought that Sheen would be harder than me, obviously, but I never thought to see that look, especially directed at me. It was the look that killers gave their victims.

He pays me no mind as he just shoves past me and onto archery. He looks at the dummy with a contemplative look before picking up the bow, aiming it as he draws the bow back, arrow nocked at a bad angle against it. His technique is wrong, so naturally, the arrow whizzes past the dummy and disintegrates against the force field that's at the back wall. He lets out a string of curses as he shakes his head, shoulders slumping in defeat. The scene is too difficult to watch, so I decide to leave and move onto another station.

I glance up at the mentors as I make my way over to the snares, seeing Cashmere shake her head as she talks to a large, burly male; I have the slight premontion she's talking about Sheen. He's not tall, having more of a stocky build. He isn't nearly as attractive as Gloss, or as the famous Finnick Odair, who I recognize in the mentors, as well. Eventually, I distinguish the male as Brutus, one of the two District 2 mentors. I watch their conversation a while more as he gestures to Gregor, then to Sheen. I see the offense on Cashmere's face, then I see Gloss coming up to her side. I avert my eyes at this point, feeling like I'm intruding on their conversation.

I busy myself with the snares, seeing that I'm actually pretty terrible with them. I expected them to be like knots, and thought that my lithe fingers would be good for the job, but I was just plain clumsy and incorrigible in terms of being taught how to use them. As I go to try for a second time, the lunch bell rings, and immediately, my heart rate picks up. I want nothing more than to _not _be stuck in that cafeteria, but I also know that I don't have a choice. My fellow tributes and I meander over, most of them looking more and more haggard every day, even though they're in the graces of the Capitol. _So I'm not the only one who's being affected. They sure don't show you this on the broadcasts. The tributes always look perfect_, I think with bitter contempt. With exception of a few souls, everyone looks either terrified, sick, or both.

I sit at the same spot as yesterday, flanking Sheen's right as Ameda sits to his left and Gregor to hers. I feel sick as Gregor looks at me, giving me a smirk. All I can think of is my nightmare, and I want nothing more than to escape from his gaze. To no surprise, he continues to stare at me until Wyatt seats himself at our table. I can hear Ameda's annoyance in her voice as she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"Why do you think it's okay to still sit here?" she asks harshly.

"We should get to know each other before the Games," he counters dryly.

"That's not how it works," I speak up, quietly, but enough for me to be heard. Everyone seems to be in shock at the fact I open my mouth, and just like that, the topic shifts from Wyatt to me. _I should just go back to not speaking_, I chide myself as Ameda and Gregor tease me, their voices mocking and insulting at "the girl who finally speaks".

I tune them out as I look over at Sheen. He is totally quiet as he finishes lunch, eyes hard and focused. I mouth a quick, "You okay?" at him once he makes eye contact. Sure, he was pompous and overly confident, but he was still my district partner, and he was the only thing that I had that still reminded me of home.

He nods at me, giving a small twitch of his lips that could have been portrayed as a smile, if you have an imagination. As I look around, I see that there are very few alliances formed. It seems that, for the most part, tributes are either sitting alone, or with two or three other people. The rest of lunch continues much like it did yesterday at my own table, awkward and thick with tension, until a bell rings once again, dismissing the end of tribute interaction for the day.

We all mill back to our designated areas. Once Sheen and I reach our district quarters, we part ways, but not before I try to understand what's going on with him. "Hey, can we talk for a minute?" I take advantage of the opportunity of not having our mentors or Teris currently in the room.

He gives me a sullen nod as he makes his way over to me. "What's going on?" I ask, trying to seem sincere and not like it's a ploy to get under his skin for the Games. We're both already on edge, so added manipulation from a district partner is not really what any of us need.

He gives a long sigh before running a hand through his voluminous head of hair. I remember then that a lot of girls liked him back at school and during training. I don't think anyone's ever really said no to him, or had any doubt in him. This is probably a really harsh awakening for him.

"Gregor's claimed me as a kill," he finally replies after a moment.

My mouth drops as I stand wordlessly. It was against the unspoken laws of the Career pack for a Career to mark another as a kill. It's typical for Careers to hunt on the other, weaker districts, but definitely not their own. Dumbly, at a loss for words, I ask, "What?"

Sheen just shakes his head, sighing. "He says that I'm an embarrassment to the Careers, so he wants to get rid of me. Cashmere tried to fix it with their mentor today, explain that Careers can't do that to each other." _That would explain why Cashmere was talking to Brutus_, I deduce. It dawns on me that Sheen actually thinks he can trust these people. I feel pity for my district partner there in that moment. His naivety will get him killed in the end.

I also think, however, that in the game of the survival of the fittest, there isn't room for error or bad judgments. Sheen decides our conversation is over and leaves, turning on his heel as he makes his way to his quarters. I make my way to my own, sitting on my bed, drawing my knees up to my chest.

Perhaps in my dream last night it was Sheen getting killed by Gregor. I shiver at the thought; the blood, the coughing and choking. Sheen doesn't deserve to die like that. My eyes feel misty as tears threaten to spill for the third time that day. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. The Games are torture, utter, and complete torture. All of those sayings were true when I was at the academy; the Games don't start when the clock ticks down, they start as soon as the two simple words of your name are read on that small piece of paper on Reaping Day.

I sit like this for a long while, contemplative and meditative. I hear my door being slid open, and I see Gloss walking towards me, two plates of food in his hands. He gives me one as he sits in the same armchair he had earlier that day.

"Cashmere and I decided it would be best to give both of you a pep talk in private," he explains as he starts to eat.

I nod in understanding, adjusting myself so I can give him my attention and eat without spilling it on myself like a moron. "I heard about Gregor's promise."

Gloss nods, sighing deeply, the exhaustion in his voice evident. "Brutus refuses to convince Gregor to change his mind. He says, 'If they're an embarrassment, then they don't deserve to be in the Careers.'."

"So what does that mean for Sheen and me? You can't really have a Career Pack without District 1," I say incredulously.

Gloss shakes his head, "I really don't want to talk about this right now. I've had enough negativity for one day." His mood picks up as a smile creeps on his face. "While I'm upset you ignored me today and showcased your skills, I'm thoroughly impressed with your range skills, by the way."

I blush at his compliment. "I'm better with a knife," I say shyly.

"I wouldn't want to cross you, then," he says, chuckling softly, a look of pride adorning his features.

I smile the first genuine smile that I've had in what felt like forever. "You're quite the charmer," I say, a smirk replacing the smile as I mirror the smirk that he had also made.

"I am in full knowledge of this," he says, smirk growing wider.

I can't help but inwardly swoon, even though I know it's foolish and futile. The odds are against me, and I probably won't be coming out of that arena, and if I do, the odds are even slimmer that the dazzling and suave Gloss would ever like me back.

I mentally chide myself for being so negative, but having that outlook on life seems better than getting disappointed in the end.

* * *

><p><strong>So, opinions? I'd like to know what you guys think about things so far, especially my portrayal of the characters! Also, I'd like to know what you guys think about my own characters. It'll be picking up more when we get to the Games.<strong>

**LadyGalxdriel: Welcome to the story! I'm glad to have you as a reader! Here's an update for you!**

** .92317: (Stupid Fanfiction isn't letting me write out your name properly.) Thanks for your review! I'm happy that you like the way I'm portraying Gloss and Cashmere! I know that some people probably expect Gloss to be a bit more brutish, but I honestly never saw him like that. I always imagined him to be very calm, cool, and collected. Cashmere, however, I anticipated to be high strung and a perfectionist, so that's how I portray her in this! I'm glad you like Jet, as well. I think she's one of my favorite original characters of all time! She's so fun to write and similar to myself.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Welcome to Chapter Six! I'm so thankful for all of the views, follows, favorites, and reviews I've gotten so far! You guys are seriously awesome! **

**In this chapter, we see that Gloss can pretty much sleep in anything, the mentors are called in to help the tributes (because of mysterious causes), a cameo from the fabulous Finnick Odair, and the Careers are even more strained than ever.**

**Enjoy reading!**

* * *

><p><em>Thud. Thud. <em>I hear the sounds of purposely heavy footsteps. I strain my eyes to see, but everything is dark. I can tell that I'm up higher, not on ground level. I run my hands around me, feeling the rough bark of a tree. I hold my breath as a torch comes into view, being held by a large figure.

"I know you're there, little dove. Won't you sing to me?" A voice belonging to the figure below me sneers out. It's rough and unpleasant, sounding like they've either been screaming or are dehydrated. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on who it belongs to. I press my back up against the tree, careful to make as little noise as I can.

"I killed everyone but you. Why do you keep running? I want to know how you bleed," the voice pants out. I can tell that they're tired, from whatever activity they were doing. I have the slight premonition that it was killing people.

"22 down, one to go. One more cannon and I can go home," they breathe out, voice raspy. I peer down, noting dark, spikey hair. My breath hitches and my heart pounds violently in my body.

Wyatt.

My hands desperately roam over my belongings, fighting to find a weapon of some sort. My hand comes across a blade and I hurriedly rip it out of where I find it, turning it over in my hand, feeling the weight of the handle. My brows furrow as the light from Wyatt's torch turns my way, the flame illuminating the weapon. It's the same knife I used to train with back home. There's no way they could've gotten this…

I further inspect it, seeing my initials carved in the hilt, the same wear and tear on the leather in the same exact places. I turn it over to inspect the other side when I see my reflection. Blood covers my face, and I can tell it's not mine. My eyes are silver and crazed, not my usual intellectual blue. In my shock, I drop the knife, disgusted.

Almost as if it was in slow motion, I watch it tumble through the air, getting closer and closer to the ground. I cringe as it hits the floor with a deafening_thud_. Wyatt whips his head up, eyes meeting mine. His eyes are silver, much like mine. His lips curl into a snarl as he trips his way over to my tree. He's injured, but that doesn't stop him. I watch in hopeless horror as he makes his way up the tree, in a way that he shouldn't be able to, with his obvious injury.

And then the next thing I know, he's face to face with me, breath hitting me as he brings up a heavy rock that could easily crush my skull in just two hits, or maybe even one. "I told you I'd find you," he sneers, cranking his arm back to deliver my death.

* * *

><p>My eyelids flitter open, my breath forcefully being pushed from my lungs. I sit up from my bed, rubbing my eyes roughly as I strain them, looking around in the dim light. I'm back in my quarters, and it's still dark out, the moonlight leaking through my window, providing just enough light. <em>Just another nightmare<em>, I tell myself as I look at my surroundings more closely. A small smile curls on my lips as I see Gloss, deeply asleep and sitting in the arm chair he seems to have claimed.

We'd stayed up a while, talking about life back home before we'd both fallen asleep. I'd just assumed that he would let himself out when he got tired. Talking about home was a common subject we seemed to happen upon when we talked, but I was always glad for it. Home was comforting, in any way it was delivered to me; from the people surrounding me to the materials that comforted me, made exclusively by my district.

I lean closer to him, kicking the blankets off as I gently touch his arm. He lazily opens an eye, a languid smile appearing on his full lips. My heart skips a beat as I blush, concealed by the darkness, thankfully. _Good lord, he's gorgeous_, I think to myself as he lets out a small yawn, stretching like a cat as he opens both of his eyes.

"I should probably be getting to bed," he says, voice deep and thick with sleep. I nod, biting my bottom lip as he gets up, walking towards the door. "I'm right down the hall," he adds in farewell as he leaves. His words make me feel safe as I whisper an unheard, "Thank you."

I lie back on my bed, closing my eyes. I sleep soundly for the remainder of that night.

* * *

><p>"President Snow has decided that he wants the mentors to help you guys today. It'll be televised, so that'll be extra footage for the Capitol to eat up. There're certain…complications," Gloss says, struggling for the correct word as he stabs a piece of meat on his plate.<p>

I quirk a brow. "We seem that bad?"

Gloss shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck as he shakes his head. "No, no, nothing like that. We've had worse crops of tributes. To be honest with you, I'd tell you if I knew what was going on, but I myself don't truly understand it."

The way he's speaking makes me tense as I push my plate of breakfast away, so I decide to change the topic of conversation. "What are you guys supposed to help us with?"

"Whatever you need help with, I suppose, although most of the mentors can't even walk upright, let alone wield a weapon," he replies, shaking his head in distaste.

"And what if their mentor isn't good at the things the tribute is, vice versa?" I ask, quirking a brow, mainly because the situation applies to us. I can't imagine Gloss using the patient and practiced technique of knife throwing and I can't imagine myself using brute force with a sword or mace.

His bad mood melts away as he shakes his head, cracking a small smile. "Then I guess it'll just be good entertainment for the Capitol."

We gather around Venus, tributes forming a front line while their mentors stand behind them. Our mentors wear similar garb to ours, and I can't help but imagine what Gloss looked like when he was actually a tribute, years ago. When he won, I was barely 10, so I can't remember his Games that well, but I can remember being star struck by him, even back then.

Venus goes onto explain that today is mainly for television, and it'll be another chance for us to show our skills for the sponsors. I zone out as I look behind me. I recognize some victors, but not all. There's Gloss and Cashmere, obviously, then the two killing machines from 2; Enobaria and Brutus. Then there's the technological genius from 3, Beetee Latier, and a woman I don't know to his side, who speaks in low, inane whispers that only her fellow mentor seems to understand.

To their left is the infamous Finnick Odair, a cavalier smile on his lips, dimples forming in his cheeks as he has his arms crossed, looking at everyone around him with an air of superiority. His eyes meet mine, and he sends a wink my way. I blush and pretend not to see it as I continue my search down the line.

I don't recognize them all, but for the most part, I do. From 7, there's the hot-headed Johanna Mason and her companion, Blight, who seems to be a man of few words. From 11, there's Seeder and Chaff, both of whom have been mentoring for a long time, and last but not least, there's Haymitch Abernathy, an obvious drunk and District 12's only surviving victor.

When we are dismissed to start training, the cameras immediately flicker on, and we are being broadcasted live to the districts and the Capitol. I avoid eye contact with them as I make my way over to Gloss. He glances around at the stations and his eyes settle on the knife throwing station.

He glances over at me, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I'd like to see what you can do with those knives."

I nod, following him as we make our way over to the station. He nods encouragingly as I pick up a blade, weighing it in my hand and getting a feel for it. I decide that I like the light weight and position myself in front of the target. Gloss comes closer to me, analyzing my form. I blush a little as he places a hand on my stomach.

"You should have a firmer middle. It'll help your aim," he says. With the obedience that I'd learned from all the years of training, I immediately listen to him, taking in a deep breath as I compose myself, holding my stomach firmer. His hand retreats as he gives me a nod, and with quick, deadly precision and accuracy, I let the knife fly, watching with satisfaction as it hits the target square on the dummy's chest, piercing where a heart would be; a deadly shot.

Slow claps come from behind me, and I turn around, seeing a cocky Finnick Odair standing there in all of his conceited glory, the claps coming from his hands. His tribute stands next to him, an average looking boy with sandy hair and tan skin, a popular occurrence in District 4. Finnick crosses his arms, cockily swaggering over to me.

"Beautiful and deadly, hm? It would appear we're two alike, you and I. The sponsors will eat you up," he says, a tone of sarcasm in his voice.

Gloss speaks up from behind me, his voice holding some warning to it. "Finnick. Did you need something?"

Finnick shrugs, that same, sly smile on his lips. "Oh, Gloss. You never change, do you?" I can sense the tension between the two. "I just wanted my tribute here to try out some knife throwing, seeing as the Careers didn't want a part of us this year. Again," Finnick adds bitterly, his smile faltering for a moment as he pushes past us, his own tribute trailing behind him.

Gloss grabs my hand and he leads me over to the food testing station. I busy myself with the test as Gloss stands to the side, fuming quietly. I know that the cameras had caught all of that, and were know following Finnick, so I decide to take the opportunity to question him.

"What was that all about?" I ask him quietly, not wanting to set him off or anything.

Thankfully, he just let out a sigh, shaking his head. "He's salty that District 4 was excluded from the Careers this year. And last year."

I give him a confused look. "Did you talk to District 2 about it or something?" I assumed that Gregor was the one who called the shots about who joins us.

Gloss scoffs, shaking his head once more. "It's a decision made by Cashmere, myself, Brutus, and Enobaria. District 4 doesn't get the training we do, so we exclude them from the pack often if the tributes don't look like they're good enough. Of course, it's not all up to the mentors. Once you're in the arena, it's out of our hands. Finnick doesn't like the system. He voices his opinion on the matter often."

I nod. "Are Sheen and I still considered Careers, then, what with Gregor's vendetta?"

Gloss glances around us. "Yes, but don't trust the others. Loyalty seems to be a fickle thing this year."

I finish the food test quickly, only missing a couple. The cameras turn back on us as I see Sheen and Cashmere approach us. Cashmere is forcing a smile and Sheen tries his best to look like he's not a train wreck. Cashmere and Gloss have a conversation to themselves as Sheen comes over to me.

"Gregor says it was just a joke," Sheen whispers to me as he tries his hand at the food test.

I give him a smile. "That's great," I reply, not wanting to tell him not to trust it.

I watch as he misses over half of the food testing, but that doesn't seem to bother him. He seems happy, actually. I come to realize that this truly is his whole life; the Hunger Games. He wants to be the Career he was trained to be. Something tells me that he would've volunteered for the Hunger Games if his name wasn't called.

"Tributes, please gather for the gauntlet," I hear Venus say. I inwardly groan. There was an obligatory gauntlet every year. It was sort of like public shaming and getting to know your enemies wrapped up in one. You got to see who was fast, who was slow, who was uncoordinated, etc.

We form a random line, the female from District 7 being the first to go and the male from District 5 being the last. The gauntlet is an obstacle course where trainers swing bats at us and we have to dodge them while climbing over platforms and running down slides.

I'm the third to go. The two before me failed miserably, tripping over their own feet, their biggest enemy being themselves. I see their mentors shaking their heads in disdain. I approach the course, and as soon as the whistle blows, I take off. I dodge bats and run as fast as I can, willing myself not to trip or fall. I make it out of the course in a fast time, heart pounding as I take deep breaths, joining Gloss, who intently watches Sheen go next, but not before he gives me a charming smile that makes my heart melt.

Sheen doesn't do too terribly, but still makes some mistakes. The rest of the tributes run terrible times, until we get to Ameda and Gregor. Ameda gets close to my time, but doesn't beat it. She gives me a nasty look as she passes me, roughly shoving her mentor, Enobaria. Gregor, however, despite his size, makes it through the course in nearly half my time. He doesn't bother with dodging the bats, he just knocks the trainers down, plowing through the whole thing. He lets out a tacky roar at the end, pounding his chest like a primitive.

He passes by me, giving me a cocky look. My stomach turns. I know that he still has Sheen marked as a kill, and something tells me that the story is the same for me. He wants me dead, and so does Ameda, and I'm sure they'll do whatever they can to kill me when the Games start. I just hope my parents aren't watching.

* * *

><p><strong>Another chapter down! What did you guys think? I personally like seeing insight on the Careers, and I for one don't think that it's always sunshine and rainbows for them. Quite the opposite, actually. I think that there's a lot of competitiveness and ego, so it's just natural that they would be after each other, especially when it comes down to the final tributes in the Games.<strong>

** .92317: (Maybe one day I will be able to write your name out. Not really sure what's going on with it. I'm probably just stupid :p) I hope you like where I'm going with the Careers after this chapter, too! I pretty much squealed while writing the cuddling scene. So cute, haha! Thank you for your review!**

**abc500: Here's a new chapter for you! I'm glad you enjoy Jet and Gloss' relationship thus far. I always worry about sounding too cheesy or rushing it, so it looks like I'm on the right track for now! And here's some Finnick for you in this chapter! I thought it would make you happy! :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**Welcome to Chapter Seven valued readers! I appreciate all of the views, reviews, favorites, and follows. Keep it up! **

**Also, I have decided it would be best to edit this to the 69th Hunger Games, instead of the 70th, so that there aren't any clashes further on.**

**In this chapter, we have the last day of the training continued from last chapter, Jet makes Gloss bleed, and the individual assessments. **

* * *

><p>"Maybe you should be more careful, darling, and know who these things belong to," I hear a voice sneer from behind me. I turn around to see Johanna Mason, the chaotic axe wielder from 7 bark at Gloss as she roughly jerks a knife from him, handing it to her tribute. "Wouldn't want to mess up your nails," she adds, lip curling up into a spiteful smirk.<p>

Gloss rolls his eyes, not responding to her as he catches up with me. "These mentors are insane," I whisper under my breath. We were nearing the last leg of training of the entire Hunger Games, and so far, I've seen more fights and verbal slander than I've seen in a lifetime, in just one day. It makes me nervous and unsure, looking around at the deranged and damaged people who were forced to kill others, the effects of it obvious on them.

"It only gets better when you're forced to see them every year," he responds dryly, then continues, "I think we should at least work on some hand-to-hand-combat, just in case."

I glance over at him, anxiety flooding my chest. I wasn't supposed to do this stuff. I'm weak and useless up close, that's what my trainers have been telling me my whole life. "I can't," I whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear the evident self-doubt in my voice.

"Practicing won't hurt," he encourages me, a gentle smile on his lips, but I can see the impatience behind his eyes, primarily from me failing miserably at sword fighting, and the comments the other mentors made. I observe that he's very sensitive to their words. He doesn't show too much emotion, but I can still see it, that raw form of Gloss that I'd seen just a few days ago, even though it felt like a lifetime ago.

Deciding not to argue with him, I just nod my head, approaching the station. A mat is at the center of it, and thankfully, no one else is there. There aren't any Capitol assistants today, so it's just mentor and tribute. The cameras follow us, and I immediately start to feel queasy. I may have a few issues with my pride, and I really don't like being shown up or failing at something, but I have the premonition that some shame and humility are going to be unavoidable in this instance.

Gloss assumes a defensive position across from me and I take a deep breath, setting myself in an offensive stance. I can hear the zooming of lenses, and I know that they're closing up on me. This is an opportunity for me to gain sponsors that could eventually save my life in the Games, but I'm sure I'll repulse anyone who is currently watching.

Gloss gives me a nod of his head and I immediately lunge in, throwing a right hook. He easily blocks my fist and I feel myself already getting frustrated with this concept. I like having time to analyze the situation and prepare myself. I wasn't good at the fast acting things, like this. It was too rough and gritty, too out of control and based on chance or fate. You could blink and be knocked out in the time span that it takes to blink.

I reassert myself and go in again, throwing a right hook, but following it with a left, effectively nailing Gloss in the side, but in all honesty, it probably hurt me more than him. My wrist went in at a weird angle, and with all my weight behind it, it made an unpleasant _pop _sound as it hit his firm middle. I shake my fist, getting the feeling to return to it as I once again compose myself.

I move in quickly, throwing a left punch then a right, then a left again in a quick, but inaccurate and blind, succession. By the second punch, Gloss has picked up on my pattern and has effectively grabbed my arm by the third punch, pulling me close to him, then throwing me on the ground. I immediately panic, not liking being pinned down, and hit him, with my palm, in his chin. His hold vanishes as he stands up, covering his mouth, an amused look on his face as he helps me up with his free hand.

"See? You're fine when you know you have to defend yourself. And when you can fight dirty," he adds, giving a breathy laugh as he pulls his hand away from his mouth, a small pool of blood resting in his palm from my impact.

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling insecure as I notice that a crowd has gathered. Most look either disgusted or hateful, but some have a look of approval. Gloss gestures me over to him and we stand back, drinking some water as we watch Gregor and Brutus spar next. It's a brutal dog fight and I have a hard time watching.

"Why did you say you were so bad at this stuff?" Gloss asks after a drink of water, gesturing to the two dominant males who were currently attempting to kill each other, the cameras going back and forth between the two.

"That's what they always told me back home. They gave up after a while," I answer, glancing at him, trying to ignore how gorgeous he looked, even after he had been working.

"Did they ever have you go on defense?" He asks curiously, arching a perfectly manicured brow.

I think about his question for a moment before shaking my head. "No, actually. They only had me doing the offensive training. I guess defensive training was for advanced scholars of the craft," I add pretentiously, faking a Capitol accent as I shake my head.

He chuckles, grinning. "Well, there you go. You're not totally hopeless. They don't teach you how to defend yourself like that back home. They don't teach you how to fight dirty, though, either, so I think you have some explaining to do there," he smirks, teasing me as I shake my head, smiling sheepishly. He continues, "It's all about getting the kill, I know."

"It's bullshit," I say, hands flying up to cover my mouth as the lewd word escaped my mouth. I'm usually prim about my language, but that profanity slipped out of my mouth in my train of thought.

"I didn't think I'd ever hear anything like that come out of your mouth," he drawls, smirking as he gives me a little nudge with his elbow.

"It was an accident, I'm sorry," I answer honestly, shaking my head, blushing a little. _He probably thinks I'm trashy now. Good going, Jet. Really. What a charismatic thing you are. It's amazing he's not in love with you yet_, I chide myself.

"Don't be sorry about it. It makes you seem real. The Capitol needs more of that bullshit these days," his smirk widens as he uses my choice word, chuckling. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that Gregor and Brutus are still fighting like animals.

I shake my head, nudging him with my elbow, copying him. "Would you shut up?"

"I would, but you don't want me to," he teases me back, nudging me for the second time.

I copy him once more, looking up at him. "You're ornery after you beat up an innocent teenage girl, you know?"

"Hey, hey, you were the one beating me. Do you not see this?" his tone is still full of banter as he gestures to his wounded mouth.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, by the way," I say sheepishly, blushing a little.

He waves it away. "Don't worry about it. I'm proud of you, actually. A little shocked and injured, but proud, nonetheless."

My mood soars as he says he's proud of me. I look away, a beam on my face as my blush creeps on my face furthermore. We watch the rest of the fight, the victor being inconclusive as the two are forced apart by Venus. She warns them that one of them will end up dead if it continued any further. Brutus, although hurt by his ego, doesn't fail to express his pride that his tribute nearly beat him at his own game.

A bell sounds, signifying the end of training for the 69th Hunger Games. We are instructed that we will be eating lunch at our living quarters before we are to be tested in the final assessment. Gloss and I get to the living quarters before the others, so we're left alone for a few short minutes. He runs to the bathroom quickly, properly cleaning his mouth before coming to join me at the table.

Once he's seated, I speak up, "So you don't think I'm totally hopeless?"

He shakes his head, scoffing. "Oh, no. Definitely not. You're smart and careful. If I had to bet, my money would be on you."

I'm pleasantly shocked at his words. I'd expected him to say that he believes in me, he thinks I'm not hopeless, or anything else that files under the "Pump Your Tribute's Spirits up so they don't Make You Look Bad" category. I really didn't think he would say that I would_win_.

"Even over District 2?" I ask, a skeptical brow raised.

He nods. "Oh, yes, definitely. They're so arrogant, they'll get themselves killed. Come to think of it, I think you're the only Tribute I've had that_isn't _arrogant."

I always forget that he's a mentor and he's had other Tributes, but none of which had returned home. I push the ominous thought to the back of my head as I give him a small smile. "Who knows. Maybe I'll just die in the blood bath by running into a sword."

"Please don't do that," he says, rubbing his eyes. "I'll never forget the year that my Tribute did that; the first one I ever had. Practically committed suicide."

"I remember that year," I say, nodding as I think about it. I remember being forced to gather around the television set and watch it, and just as soon as the cannon goes off, one of the representatives from our district ran into a sword in their haste.

"It was even worse when my other Tribute died from being snared in a trap for two days. That was just gruesome," he shakes his head, letting out a sigh.

"Ah, you may have to worry about that. I'm awful at snares and traps," I shake my head, giving him a sly smile.

"You're absolutely killing me," he grins, contradictory to his words as he runs a hand through his golden locks. The elevator door_dings_, and soon enough, the rest of our entourage come in. I hear excitable chatter coming from somewhere, and I turn to see Teris coming out of his room, pink hair all bedraggled as he hurriedly rakes a hand through it, attempting to pull his appearance together.

"I'm sorry, everyone. I'm afraid I miscalculated the time," he says, looking like he's about to burst into tears.

"It's fine. We won't say anything," Cashmere says sweetly, but as soon as he turns around, she rolls her eyes.

I'd heard of escorts being fired from their positions, but I don't think it happens very often in my district. Well, at least, you never hear about it. Avoxes deliver our lunch soon after Teris' appearance. Sheen gives me a look as he digs in his food. I'm surprised that he can still eat like that. With every day that passes in the Capitol for me, my appetite diminishes, nerves getting the best of me.

I quirk a brow at him. He swallows his food, then wipes his mouth. "Gregor says that he wants to talk to you," he finally tells me.

"About what?" I immediately get defensive and cautious. I don't trust that psychopath one bit, and the fact that he sent Sheen as a messenger can't be good.

Sheen shrugs. "Not sure, but I think it's pretty important."

I glance over at Gloss, who gives me a worried expression. "Are you sure you have no idea what it is?" I ask Sheen again.

He shakes his head, obviously getting frustrated with me. "Yes, I'm sure."

The rest of the meal goes on in awkward silence between us. I don't want to prod him any further about the topic, but I can't help but feel scared. What could Gregor possibly want from me other than my heart to stop beating?

* * *

><p>"Sheen Comman, District 1. Report for individual assessment," the voice on the speaker announces. I give Sheen a reassuring smile as he takes a deep breath, striding through the doors of the training center, where the gamemakers await to judge each and every one of us. There's even more pressure riding on this, as they haven't seen us at all yet. First impressions are vital.<p>

I glance around at the others surrounding me. Gregor catches my eye and he blows me a kiss, laughing crudely about it with Ameda after he sees my shocked reaction. I avoid looking at them for the rest of the time as I wring my fingers nervously. I feel pressure to do well in this. It's normal for Careers to get between an eight and 10 during the assessment, and I definitely don't want to fall short.

I strategize what I plan to do; the food testing first, then knots, then bow and arrow, and then knife throwing. I want to work my way up with my strengths, saving the best for last so I can leave with a good impression, as well as a decent first impression. I take deep breaths, willing myself to remain calm. As long as I'm calm, I won't miss my shots or mess up my test.

Suddenly, the doors are opening and Sheen is walking out, an impassive look on his face. "Jet Maisivitch, District 1. Report for individual assessment," the dreaded speaker sounds and I feel myself getting up and walking to the doors to the training center. I don't seem to be in control of my body. I want to sit there and pretend that I'm not really a tribute and this is all some sort of mistake, but I also know that being punctual and attentive probably gives a good impression for the game makers.

I make my way to the center, standing there as I wait for the next part. Above me, in the panel that usually seats the mentors, there are the game makers, the head game maker standing in the center, tall and intimidating in appearance. "You have 15 minutes to present your chosen skill," he says, wise and noble eyes meeting mine. I nod, heading straight to the test.

I zoom through it and praise myself for not missing any. Hopefully that'll help me in the actual Games and not just here. Next, I make my way over to the knots, my nimble fingers tying some knots that could be useful in holding things (or tributes), and others that would be good for conventional uses. Once I am satisfied there, I head over to the bow and arrow station, careful to take my time on these last two stations.

I analyze the bows laid out for the tributes to use. My fingers feel over the grooves and characteristics of each one before I pick my poison; the lightest bow, one that will not have a lot of power behind it, but deadly accuracy and precision. It would just take one hit with this bow and it could be over for the unfortunate soul who finds his way on the other side of it.

I pick up a silver arrow, carefully nocking it against the metal of the bow. I close an eye, drawing the bow back as I visualize my target. With a perfectionist's eye that is satisfied with my position, I let the arrow loose, watching as it whizzes through the air, hitting its mark with a _thud_; right where it was aimed to be- dead-on the heart.

I repeat my process with the two other targets that are set up, aiming my arrow at the smaller target on the dummy that rests on the throat. I nock, aim, then loose, the same thing I tell myself over and over as I move onto the next, aiming at the eye this time, one of the smallest targets on something, and one of the most fatal shots, as well.

When I'm done with my trusty bow, I set it back on its respective table, making my way back to my most practiced skill; knife throwing. I don't need to take the time to assess the targets with the knives. I let them fly at alarming rates, each one finding their mark. I throw at least seven before I run out. I look over to the game makers, nodding my head in affirmation that I'm done with my "performance".

I just hope I don't have to use those skills unless absolutely necessary in the Arena.

* * *

><p><strong>What did you guys think? I always love to get feedback!<strong>

**.92317: I'm glad you agree with my opinion of the Careers! I know some people don't. We gotta love those mentor scenes, amirite? As always, thank you for reviewing!**

**abc500: I'm glad you liked my insertion of Finnick! I didn't want to make it seem too random, so I thought I would just bring up the confusion we as a fanbase feel about the exclusion of District 4 in the Careers (well, that's how I feel, anyways). More mentors is always a fun thing to write about. They're probably one of my favorite parts of The Hunger Games series. I think it's extremely interesting to see how they all cope with the Games and the effects that they have on them. I'm glad you see my idea of Jet! That's exactly how I wanted her to come off as. Thank you for your reviews!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Welcome to Chapter Eight! I'm terribly sorry for the later than usual update, I've been really busy with schoolwork and studying for final exams.**

**Thanks for the favorites, follows, etc!**

**In this chapter, we see the training scores and have a whole bunch of Gloss and Jet! To be honest with you, this chapter is pretty much entirely about Jet and Gloss.**

**Also, just a little bit of a warning, this is a pretty sensitive chapter, as it talks about prostitution and whatnot. My heart was palpitating as I wrote this. Tears are on my keyboard. **

**On a different note, I currently have a poll up and I'd love if you guys checked it out and gave me some feedback.**

**Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"How did it go?" I hear Gloss ask as I enter District 1's living quarters.<p>

He's sitting at the island that's in the kitchen, on a high-seated chair. His arms are crossed and he looks almost serene. I smile softly at the scene as I step into the living room. "I think it went pretty well," I reply, feeling genuinely pleased about my performance.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Sheen appears in my perspective, Cashmere shaking her head behind him.

"I did terrible. I don't even deserve to be in the Careers. I got so nervous I couldn't even hold a sword right," he grumbles angrily.

"You're so useless. There's nothing I can do for you. If it isn't your dramatic ego, it's your extreme self-doubt. It's going to get you killed," she says exasperatedly, throwing her arms up in frustration as she sighs.

Sheen opens his mouth to retort back, but thinks better of it as he catches Cashmere's deadly glance. I clear my throat awkwardly as I make my way over to Gloss, sitting on the chair that's across from him. He gives me a calming smile as he runs a hand through his hair. Despite his deceiving appearance, I can see the stress and anxiety that's hidden behind his eyes.

"What's going on with Cashmere?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet, scared that she would hear me and rip my throat out.

Gloss sighs, rubbing his temple. "She's not reacting well to the things President's Snow's been going on about."

"Which is?" I probe further. Gloss hesitates, analyzing me with sharp eyes.

"It's complicated," he answers shortly, eyes dropping from mine as he sighs.

We sit in silence for a moment. We're currently waiting for the rest of the individual assessments to be over, and because Sheen and I were the first two, it could be a while. "We have time," I reply quietly, wanting to know what was going on. Gloss had been hiding whatever the problem was for a while now, and every time it involved President Snow, which meant it probably involved the entirety of Panem, further involving myself and my family.

"It would do you good to not be so nosy, you know," he says, not unkind, a small smile on his lips.

"Hey, I'm just trying to be smart. What if I mention something sensitive to your sister and she threatens to kill me?" I joke dryly, arching a brow.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "She'll be too busy trying to kill your district partner. You'll have enough time to escape."

"You can't dissuade me from this topic, you know," I reply quickly, trying to get back on topic and return to my original question, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with this Hunger Games that made everything so different.

He shakes his head, eyes meeting mine once again, his voice warning, "Jet, this really doesn't concern you. Keep prodding, and you'll end up getting hurt."

I drop the subject as I hear his tone of voice, swallowing the lump in my throat as I nod, looking down. His words weren't just a warning, they were a promise.

I decide not to push the topic any further as the television flickers on, national anthem of Panem playing. Gloss stands up from his seat, walking over to the living room. I follow him, sitting next to him on the plushy couch as Sheen and Cashmere take their seats as well; Cashmere sitting on the other side of Gloss on the couch as Sheen sits in one of the lounge chairs. Teris appears from wherever he sequesters himself all day and sits in the chair adjacent to Sheen. Thankfully, he has nothing to say and just takes a seat. I can only handle so much of that Capitol accent in a day.

Once the national anthem is over, Caesar Flickerman's face appears, facing the camera with a huge grin plastered on his face. It looked almost comical, despite the circumstances. "Hello, hello, citizens of Panem!" He goes on to explain the purpose of the training scores and how they can help tributes in the arena, blah blah blah.

Once his little speech is over, Sheen's face appears on the screen. Caesar's voice announces, "Sheen Comman; eight," as the numerical form of the number flashes over Sheen's face.

I know that to a lot of tributes, an eight wouldn't be too bad, but to Sheen, it's terrible. He clenches his fists, narrowing his eyes in anger. Cashmere rolls her eyes, huffing. Gloss snickers at their displays of immaturity before Cashmere sends him a look. He wipes the smile from his face as he clears his throat, returning his gaze to the television, but not before he winks at me.

My face is the next to appear, and I can't help but roll my eyes. _They totally edited that picture_, I think to myself. My skin looks too pale, especially with the stark contrast against my pitch black hair. In actuality, my hair is dark, but not quite the dark, and my skin certainly isn't that smooth or perfect.

I feel nervous as I start to think of what would happen if I got a low score. Not just a "low" score in terms of Career standards, but an actual low score, like a two or something. Gloss would lose all hope in me. I wouldn't get sponsors, and I would be the target of the Careers for sure, probably even from Sheen as well.

"Jet Maisivitch; ten," Caesar's voice finally announces, ending the anticipation as a "10" flashes over my fake face. The room is dead silent before Teris claps excitedly, getting up from his chair, rushing over to me.

"Oh, dear, you'll do so well!" He gushes, placing a kiss on my cheek. I'm a little surprised by his display of affection, but at this point in time, I barely even register it. I'm still trying to register what just happened when I hear a door slam. I look to see that Sheen is gone, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I have a feeling he's going to try his hardest to kill me in the arena.

After Gregor and Ameda's matching 10's that compliment mine, the remaining tribute scores are low and insignificant until we get to Wyatt. His face flashes on the screen, menacing and lethal, eyes dark and merciless. "Wyatt Vaughn; 11," Caesar's voice says. My brows shoot up in surprise at his high score. He beat all of the Careers.

This either means he'll be an ally, or the most wanted tribute in the arena.

* * *

><p>"Come on, just once. I know where the cameras have blind spots," Gregor sneers in my face, rough hands gripping my waist painfully, nails digging into my skin. "I know you'd let that pretty boy mentor of yours do it to you."<p>

"Let go of me," I bark out harshly, trying to push him away, but proving unsuccessful because of his massive size and strength that outnumber my own by a lot.

"I like when you fight back," he gets closer in my face, breath hot on my face. "I always like a good challenge."

I let out a strangled cry that goes unheard as he crashes his lips against mine, teeth and tongues clashing against each other in a painful, involuntary battle. I try to get away from him, but he's sucking me in, hands pressing against the small of my back, bringing me closer to him. I can't breathe. He's suffocating me.

Suddenly, I hear a wet _thud_, and he's falling on top of me, burly frame nearly burying me alive as I narrowly am able to push his body off of mine. He falls to my side, a knife sticking out of the back of his head. I cover my mouth in grotesque fear as I fling my head around, looking desperately for his attacker.

Out of the corner of my eye, I barely have time to see the reflection of light on a knife's blade before it's being hurled towards me.

* * *

><p>I lurch forward in my bed, gasping for air as I place my hand over my chest, feeling my beating heart. <em>Getting real sick of these nightmares<em>, I think to myself bitterly as I get up from my bed, padding out of my room and into the kitchen. An Avox retrieves me water as I sit at the table alone. No other member of the District 1 entourage feels up for a late night chat, apparently.

I take a drink of the liquid as I rest my head on my chin. In just a couple of days, I'll be in the arena, where a drink of water could very well be a luxury. In a couple of days, I'll be hurled into a pageant to the death with fellow children, all for the entertainment of the Capitol. At this point, I really don't even think it's about reminding us of the rebellion that happened so long ago, what with all the money that the government gets from the Hunger Games on an annual basis. It's sickening.

I sit at the table for a few more minutes, finishing my water, before I decide to go visit the roof. I need some time to clear my head and steady my nerves, or I would be up all night, living the vicious cycle of constant panic attacks. I make my way over to the elevator, not bothering to return to my chambers to put on some shoes.

The doors slide open, revealing the night sky to me as I step out of the elevator. The beautiful lights of the Capitol light my way as I seat myself on the ground, bringing my legs up to my chest as I inhale the heavenly air. It may not be as pure as it is back home, what with all of the pollution and synthetic things here, but it's still better than being inside all day.

"I didn't expect you to be here," a voice from behind me says. I nearly jump out of my skin as I quickly turn my head, but relax once I see Gloss' signature golden hair shining in the moonlight. I barely recognized him, from the way his voice sounded. It was very quiet and raw, almost like he had been crying.

"I needed some time alone," I respond quietly.

His face is shrouded in shadows as he nods. "I can leave-,"

I cut him off quickly. "No, you can stay. It's alright." He nods once more, face still concealed from me. "Is everything alright?" I ask, not really sure what to do. He didn't really seem his usual self, and it was disconcerting.

He's silent a moment, as if deciding what to say, before he answers, "Just this once I'll confess- no. My thoughts are torturing me tonight."

I have to take a moment to think of what to say myself. "What's wrong?" I know that I must've sounded so generic and immature, but I couldn't think of what else to say. This was like the first time I'd come up on the roof with him and he'd given me some insight to the emotions that he guarded so well.

"Do you ever fear death?" he asks plainly. It was a question not easily answered. There wasn't a right or wrong answer, yet it was so enveloped in controversy, no one knew how to answer it properly, or if there was a proper answer to it.

"Yes," I finally answer him, watching his shadowed figure carefully.

"I used to have that mindset, but then I discovered that there are some things worse than death," he replies in a quiet whisper, struggling not to let emotion convey in his voice.

"Killing other people to live is wrong," I agree, assuming he's talking about the Hunger Games, but I honestly haven't a clue. He's hard to read as it is, but when he's enigmatic like this, he's impossible.

"That's not what I meant, actually, but yeah, that's pretty bad, too."

I'm not really sure if it's smart to ask him what he's talking about, so I remain silent, waiting for him to say whatever he was comfortable with. A silence spreads between us for a long, agonizing moment before he speaks again. "I don't want you to live like this. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, but definitely not you. You're so innocent, untarnished. Pure," he speaks wistfully, emotion in his voice as he carefully moves closer to me, ethereal face lighten up in the moonlight, making him appear to be a divinity that didn't belong on this earth.

He carefully lifts his arm, hand making contact with my cheek as his thumb gently caresses the skin. "You don't deserve this."

I swallow as I relish his touch, my heart skipping a beat. He always made me feel strange around him, but it was magnified tenfold now that he was touching me like this. I have yet to answer to any of his statements, for fear that I'll say something wrong and ruin this moment, so I decide to prolong the streak as I hold his gaze.

"Tonight, I was sold off to four different people in the course of two hours. Same for my sister," he says, slowly retracing his hand from my cheek.

I arch a brow. "What?"

Gloss lets out a sigh, averting his eyes from mine. "President Snow sells off the victors that are deemed desirable. It's prostitution against your will."

I can't believe what I'm hearing as I cover my mouth in shock. "He sells you?"

Gloss nods. "I probably shouldn't have told you that, but I don't have the heart to hide it from you. If you win the Games, he'll do the same to you. I'm sure."

I suddenly realize what he's propositioning me to do. _He wants me to commit suicide in the arena_. "You want me to kill myself?"

He winces, still not looking me in the eye. "I just don't want you to think that when you survive the Games, you win. No one does. You never get away from the torture."

My heart drops at his next words. "You can have the highest training score, the most sponsors, the best odds, the best victor that ever lived- it doesn't matter. You have no say in what happens to you when you survive the Hunger Games. My mentor never told me that. I expected to live a life full of luxury and prosperity. It's far from it. I've often wondered how much peace someone could get from death. It's an obsession of mine."

Now it's my turn to touch him as I place a hand on his cheek. "But surely there's something worth living for?" I ask, trying to cheer him up. His sadness was so deep, I was feeling it like it was my own burden to carry, and I wanted nothing more than for him to feel some relief.

His green eyes, usually full of charm and life, were now replaced with morose and melancholy as they came up to meet mine finally. "I've been looking for the answer to that question for as long as I've been out of the Games, and I don't think I've found it until just recently."

* * *

><p><strong>Ah, emotional scenes make me cry, especially when I have to write them. Poor Gloss D: <strong>

**Let me know what you guys think! Feedback is always appreciated! Do you like how I'm portraying Gloss' and Jet's relationship?**


End file.
